i 


*%AHVHi 


_y 


BETROTHED  OF  WYOMING 


AN  HISTORICAL  TALE. 


•  and  must  I  show 


Sw-LX-t  Wyoming !  the  day  when  tliou  wert  doomed 
Guiltless  to  mourn  thy  loveliest  bowers  laid  low  ! 
When  where  of  yesterday  a  garden  bloom'd, 
Death  overspread  his  pall,  and  blackening  ashes  gloom'd. 

CampbtU. 


THIRD  EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

KVtll    BT  THE  1'KINCIPAt  BOOKSELLERS;   A1S  D  IN  NEW  TOUt, 

BOST03T,  BALTIMOKE,  AND  WASIHSGTOX . 

'  ,ij. 

1830. 


Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania,  to  wit: 

Jt  BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  ninth  day  ot 
•4  September,  in  the  fifty-fifth  year  of  the  Independence 
.  ,..Jt  of  the  United  States  of  America,  A.  D.  1830,  Henry  H. 
Porter,  of  the  said  District,  has  deposited  in  this  office  the  title 
of  a  Book,  the  right  whereof  he  claims  as  Proprietor,  in  the 
words  following,  to  wit : 

The  Betrothed  of  Wyoming.    An  Historical  Tale. 

— — — — and  must  I  show 

Sweet  Wyoming!  the  day  when  thou  wert  doomed 
Guiltless  to  mourn  thy  loveliest  bowers  laid  low  ! 
When  where  of  yesterday  a  garden  bloomed, 
Death  overspread  his  pall,  and  blackening  ashes  gloomed. 

Campbell, 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
intituled, "  an  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing 
the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors"  and  pro 
prietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned"— 
and  also  to  the  act,  entitled,  "  an  act  supplementary  to  an  act, 
entitled,  'an  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing 
the  copies  of  maps,  charts, and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprir. 
tors  of  such  copies  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,'  and  <  \. 
tending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving 
and  etching  historical  andother  prints." 

D.  CALDWELL, 
Clerk  of  the  Eastern  District  nf  Pennsy  Ivania. 


2 


/f  30 
INTRODUCTION. 


DURING  the  hot  weather  of  July  last,  I  re 
moved  from  the  oppressive  atmosphere  of  Phi 
ladelphia,  to  enjoy  the  pure  air  of  the  moun 
tains  in  the  upper  part  of  Northampton  county. 
I  took  lodging  in  a  small  public  house  in  a  wild 
glen  adjoining  Sullivan's  creek,  a  few  miles 
from  the  village  of  Stroudsburg.  Attached  to 
botanizing,  which,  indeed,  was  my  chief  reason 
for  selecting  this  wild  district  as  the  place  of 
my  retreqj,  I  one  day  rambled  so  far  amidst 
the  sylvan  hills  in  the  vicinity,  that  I  became 
bewildered,  and  knew  not  in  what  direction  to 
bend  my  way  homewards.  I  wandered  for 
some  hours,  in  much  perplexity,  among  the  in 
terminable  woods  which,  on  all  sides  and  from 
every  position,  obstructed  my  view.  At  length, 
in  a  small  cleared  patch  of  ground,  I  discovered 
a  log  cabin,  so  rude  and  ruinous  in  its  appear 
ance,  that  I  might  have  passed  it  without  ob 
servation,  had  I  not  perceived  smoke  issuing 
from  its  chimney.  This  proof  of  human  ha 
bitation  attracted  me.  I  approached  and  entered, 


IV  INTRODUCTION. 

but  found  no  one  within.  Persuaded,  how 
ever,  from  the  appearance  of  the  household 
matters,  that  the  owner  would  not  be  long  ab 
sent,  I  seated  myself  on  a  bench  to  await  his 
return. 

I  now  leisurely  surveyed  the  apartment, 
which  formed  the  whole  house,  and  exhibited 
nothing  extraordinary.  It  will  be  sufficiently 
described  by  saying,  that  its  chief  characteris 
tic  was  unity.  It  contained  no  duplicate  of  any 
one  article.  There  was  but  one  door,  one 
window,  one  hearth,  one  bed,  one  table,  one 
chair,  one  long  bench,  and  one  large  chest 
which,  perhaps,  concealed  such  of  its  remain 
ing  furniture  as  was  invisible.  On  a  shelf,  in  a 
dark  corner  near  the  roof,  my  eye  after  some 
minutes,  caught  an  object  it  did  not  at  first 
perceive — a  large  book.  I  took  it  down.  It 
was  a  family  bible.  In  this  there  was  nothing 
remarkable.  But  in  drawing  it  from  its  place, 
which  I  did  rather  awkwardly,  a  bundle  ot 
papers  fell  upon  the  floor,  which  I  found  to  be 
the  manuscript  of  the  following  history. 

While,  with  feelings  of  surprise  and  curio 
sity,  I  was  occupied  in  turning  the  leaves  of 
this  manuscript,  I  was  startled  by  the  approach 
of  footsteps.  I  turned  round  and  beheld,  en 
tering  the  premises,  a  venerable  figure,  bent  by 
the  weight  of  years,  and  white  with  the  snOw 


INTRODUCTION  V 

of  age.  In  the  one  hand  was  his  staff,  in  'the 
other  a  bundle  of  new-caught  fish,  and  by  his 
side  was  a  large  mastiff,  who  cast  upon  me  a 
surly  look  full  of  suspicion.  I  felt  confused, 
as  if  I  had  been  detected  in  the  commission  of 
some  petty  crime.  The  old  man  observed  my 
emotion. 

"Be  not  alarmed,"  said  he,  "Rover  injures 
no  one  without  my  permission." 

"  I  feel,"  I  replied,  "that  I  have  been  guilty 
of  intrusion,  and  impertinent  curiosity." 

"As  for  your  intrusion,"  he  observed  in  a 
tone  of  good  nature,  "  I  give  you  a  hearty  wel 
come  to  my  cabin.  As  for  the  indulgence  of 
your  curiosity,  my  own  negligence  alone  is  to 
be  blamed.  I  ought  to  have  been  more  care 
ful  of  th6  manuscripts.  But  it  is  so  long  since 
any  visiter  has  entered  my  hut,  that  careless  ha 
bits  have  latterly  crept  upon  me,  and  I  frequently 
wander  abroad  without  even  closing  my  door." 

"With  respect  to  the  manuscripts,"  said  I, 
"I  have  only  discovered  their  main  subject. 
I  know  nothing  of  their  particular  topics  or 
sentiments.  The  mischief  I  have  done  cannot, 
therefore,  be  great,  especially  as  I  am  willing, 
in  respect  even  to  their  existence,  to  pledge 
entire  secrecy  should  you  require  it." 

The  old  man  smiled.     "  Secrecy  in  relation 
to  these  papers,  is  immaterial,"  said  he.   "But 
A2 


VI  •  INTRODUCTION. 

sit  down  and  partake  of  such  refreshments  as 
my  hut  can  furnish,  for  your  ramble  into  this 
solitude  must  have  rendered  refreshments  need 
ful  to  you." 

I  accepted  his  kindness.  Our  repast  wa.? 
simple  and  wholesome,  such  as  sylvart  nature 
remote  from  society,  can  supply.  I  enjoyed  it 
with  relish,  for  exercise  had  sharpened  my  ap 
petite.  When  it  was  finished,  my  venerable 
host  reverted  to  the  manuscripts. 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,"  said  he,  "that, 
since  you  have  discovered  these  papers,  it  may 
be  more  in  your  power  to  make  a  proper  use  01 
them,  than  it  is  in  mine.  They  record  events 
which,  at  least  in  my  estimation,  are  sufficient 
ly  important  and  interesting  to  claim  a  place 
•  in  the  annals  of  the  most  momentous  period 
that  can  ever  mark  the  history  of  our  country — 
her  struggle  for  independence.  I  will  commit 
them  to  your  care,  if  you  will  engage  to  lay 
them  before  the  public,  and  pledge  yourself 
never  to  reveal  what  you  know  of  the  author 
until  informed  of  his  death.'7 

I  readily  complied  with  the  terms,  and  re 
ceived  possession  of  the  papers.  At  my  lodg 
ing  I  perused  them  carefully,  and  felt  con  vine-, 
ejl,  that  if  any  feeling  of  patriotism  remained 
among  Americans,  they  could  not  but  become 
interested  in  a  narrative  which  details,  appa- 


INTRODUCTION.  vi'l 

irently  in  the  language  of  truth,  instances  al 
most  unparalelled  in  history,  of  the  sufferings 
to  which  their  forefathers  were  exposed,  and 
which  they  endured  with  the  unwavering  firm 
ness  of  martyrs,  that  they  might  transmit  to 
their  posterity  the  inestimable  national  bless 
ings  we  now  enjoy. 

As  some  passages  of  the  narrative  appeared 
to  me  rather  obscure,  before  returning  to  the 
city,  I  again  visited  the  venerable  recluse,  in 
order  to  obtain  their  elucidation,  as  well  as 
whatever  further  instruction  respecting  the 
publication  of  the  work,  he  might  be  desirous 
to  give.  But  how  exceedingly  was  I  shocked, 
when,  on  entering  his  hut,  I  found  him  on  his 
bed  in  the  agonies  of  death,  with  no  attendant 
but  his  faithful  dog,  who  lay  whining  piteously 
beside  him!  I  caught  his  hand  and  spoke  to 
him  in  a  soothing  tone.  He  recognised  me, 
pressed  my  hand  feebly,  and  still  more  feebly, 
in  a  tone  indeed  scarcely  audible,  said,  "  Thank 
Heaven!  I  die  in  the  presence  of  a  Christian!" 
These  were  his  last  words — in  a  few  moments 
he  was  a  corpse.  My  landlord  and  three  or 
four  of  his  neighbours,  assisted  me  in  paying 
„  to  him  the  last  rites  due  to  mortality.  I  shed 
a  tear  over  his  grave;  and  should  I  live  till 
next  summer,  it  is  my  intention  again  to  visit 
that  neighbourhood,  when  I  shall  place  over  his 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

lowly  bed,  a  small  monument,  that  the  wan 
derer  amidst  those  everlasting  hills,  who  may 
accidentally  pass  the  place,  may  know  that  it 
is  holy  ground. 

The  faithful  Rover  is  now  my  affectionate 
companion:  I  shall,  at  all  times,  treat  him  with 
kindness,  and  carefully  protect  him  from  the 
cruelty  of  our  corporation  dog-killers.  The 
death  of  his  former  master  has  released  me 
from  my  pledge  of  secrecy  respecting  the  au 
thor  of  the  following  sheets.  I,  therefore, 
make  the  preceding  statement  with  a  clear 
conscience. 

THE  EDITOR. 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  1,  1830.  * 


THE 


BETROTHED  OF  WYOMING. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Confess  his  frailty— say  he  was  ashamed 

Of  that  fur  which  no  man  was  ever  blamed. 

'Twas  Heaven's  own  hand  that  had  bestowed  on  him 

The  slight  misfortune  of  a  crooked  limb : 

Yet  to  his  nund,  to  keep  the  balance  even, 

Each  splendid  gift  and  shining  grace  was  given. 

Burnsidt. 

Pope  was  a  good  poet  but  a  bad  philosopher. 
He  says  that  "  health,  peace  and  competence," 
are  all  that  can  be  necessary  for  a  reasonable 
man's  happiness.  He  is  mistaken.  There  are 
many  other  things  necessary.  I  shall  mention 
but  one — the  fulfilment  of  duty. 

For  some  years  before  the  breaking  out  of 
the  American  Revolutionary  War,  the  Rever 
end  Hezekiah  Norwood  possessed  all  these  in 
addition  to  some  other  ingredients,  not  neces 
sary  to  mention,  that  tend  to  sweeten  the  cup 
of  human  enjoyment  He  resided  on  the  banks 
of  the  Susquehanna,  in  one  of  the  flourishing 
settlements  of  Wyoming.  Those  settlements,  at 


10  THE  BETROTHED 

that  time,  constituted  within  themselves,  a  kind 
of  independent  commonwealth,  having  a  gov 
ernor,  councils,  and  laws  of  their  own  making. 
They  formed  the  most  western  frontier  of 
white  population,  being  separated  from  all  other 
abodes  of  civilization  by  an  extensive  and  un 
opened  forest.  Although  the  nearest  neigh 
bours  to  the  Indians,  whose  hostility  was  then 
the  source  of  so  many  calamities  to  such  of  our 
hardy  forefathers  as  ventured,  like  them,  to 
become  the  pioneers  of  the  woods,  their  peace 
able  and  conciliating  dispositions,  together  with 
the  prudent  "policy  of  the  public  measures 
adopted  in  their  intercourse  with  the  neigh 
bouring  tribes,  gained  them  the  confidence  and 
friendship  of  the  savages,  and  more  effectually 
secured  their  safety  and  tranquillity  than  could 
have  been  done  by  armed  bands  and  fortifica 
tions.  They  were  a  prudent  people,  however, 
and  did  not  altogether  neglect  the  precaution 
of  erecting  strong-holds;  but  in  doing  so,  they 
had  the  art  not  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  their 
fierce  and  revengeful  neighbours. 

The  virtue,  prosperity,  and  happiness  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Wyoming,  at  that  period,  are 
topics  on  which  not  only  historians  have  de 
lighted  to  dwell,  but  from  which  poets  have 
drawn  inspiration  as  from  the  only  example,  in 
modern  times,  of  a  society  flourishing  in  prim- 


OF  WYOMING.  11 

eval  innocence,  and  affording,  in  their  unso 
phisticated  manners,  upright  morals,  simple 
habits,  uniform  hospitality,  and  patriarchal  pol 
ity,  a  pleasing  image  of  the  golden  age!  Sepa 
rated,  as  before  observed,  from  the  'corrupt 
ing  influences  of  artificial  society,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  elevated  by  education,  habit,  and 
feeling,  far  above  the  ignorance,  coarseness, 
and  barbarity  of  savage  life,  they  seemed  to 
have  adopted  the  virtues  of  both,  without  the 
vices  of  either.  Such,  at  least,  is  the  picture 
which  historians  have  given  us  of  these  interest 
ing  people.  As  for  the  poets,,  their  views  of 
their  innocence  and  happiness  may  be  ascer 
tained  from  the  following  stanza  of  Campbell's 
well  known  poem  of  "  Gertrude  of  Wyoming." 

"  Delightful  Wyoming !  beneath  thy  skies, 
The  happy  shepherd  swains  had  nought  to  do, 
But  feed  their  flocks  on  green  declivities, 
Or  skim  perchance  thy  lake  with  light  canoe, 
From  morn  till  evening's  sweeter  pastime  grew, 
With  timbrel,  when  beneath  the  forests  brown, 
The  lovely  maidens  would  the  dance  renew: 
And  aye  those  sunny  mountains  half  way  down 
Would  echo  flageolet  from  some  romantic  town." 

Mr.  Norwood  was  the  religious  instructor  of 
a  congregation  whose  members  resided  in  one 
of  the  most  pleasant  spots  in  this  peaceful  region. 
The  name  of  Wyoming  was  that  of  the  whole 
settlement,  comprehending  a  considerable  ex 
tent  of  country  on  both  sides  of  the  Susque- 


12  THE   BETROTHED 

hanna;  but,  as  it  is  one  familiar  to  the  public, 
we  shall,  in  this  work,  apply  it  also  to  the  village 
in  which  Mr.  Norwood  resided.  This  village 

O 

was  situated  on  the  western  bank  of  the  great 
river,  at  the  junction  which  it  formed  with  H 
small  meandering  stream,  which,  as  the  nam> 
by  which  it  is  now  known,  is  not  very  eupho- 
nous,  we  shall  call  Sharon.  On  either  side  of 
this  stream,  a  gradually  ascending  ridge  of  for 
est-covered  hills  arose  about  a  mile  apart,  and 
stretching  from  the  river  for  about  a  mile  and 
:\  half,  began  to  approach  each  other,  until,  at 
the  distance  of  nearly  two  miles,  they  were 
separated  only  by  the  gap  through  which  the 
stream  of  Sharon  flowed.  It  was  on  the  north 
ern  bank  of  this  stream,  at  the  western  extrem 
ity  of  the  village,  that  Mr.  Norwood's  mansion 
raised  its  modest,  but  tasteful  front,  embower 
ed  amidst  a  grove  of  sycamores  and  poplars. 

In  the  year  1776,  at  the  time  our  history 
commences,  Mr.  Norwood  had  been,  for  some 
time,  a  widower.  He  was  the  father  of  only 
one  child,  a  daughter,  named  Agnes,  now  in 
her  eighteenth  year.  But  such  a  daughter! — 
She  was  in  reality,  as  she  was  often  called, 
the  Rose  of  Sharon.  Every  eye  admired  her 
beauty;  her  goodness  was  the  theme  of  every 
tongue.  She  was  refined,  intelligent,  and  affa 
ble.  Her  father,  by  both  precept  and  exam- 


OP  WYOMING.  13 

pie,  had  implanted  in  her  mind  a  thorough 
faith  in  Christian  doctrines,  and  a  strong  rev 
erence  for  Christian  virtues.  In  her,  his  earthly 
affections  were  centred ;  and  the  most  fervent 
filial  piety  rewarded  his  parental  love.  As 
perfect  equality  reigned  among  the  inhabitants 
of  Wyoming,  all  the  maidens  of  the  village 
were  her  companions;  but  there  was  one  to 
whom  she  was  particularly  attached,  whose 
mind,  manners  and  principles  harmonised  en 
tirely  with  her  own,  and  produced  a  recipro 
city  of  confidence  which  united  them  to  each 
other  in  the  strictest  bonds  of  friendship.  This 
friend  of  Agnes  was  named  Mary  Watson. 
Her  father  and  mother  were  both  dead.  But 
their  loss  was  supplied  by  the  kindness  of  an 
only  brother,  a  young  man  who  had  been  edu 
cated  for  the  medical  profession,  and  practised 
as  the  physician  of  the  district. 

This  youth  was  possessed  of  a  strong  and 
well-informed  mind,  but  of  feelings  too  sensi 
tive  for  happiness.  In  his  childhood  he  had 
received  an  injury  in  one  of  his  legs,  which  de 
formed  it,  and  produced  an  incurable  lameness. 
This  deformity  preyed  more  keenly  on  his 
mind  than  his  philosophy  should  have  permit 
ted.  But  what  are  the  suggestions  of  philoso 
phy  to  the  feelings  of  an  ardent  heart?  Have 
they  power  to  restrain  the  aspirations  of  ambi- 


14  THE   BETROTHED 

tion  or  the  longings  of  love?  If  not,  how  can 
they  render  deformity,  which  is  so  great  a  bar 
to  these  emotions,  a  satisfactory  incumbrance  ? 
Oh  deformity!  thou  art  an  eternal  source  of 
mortification  to  the  soul  that  is  touched  with 
any  desire  for  eminence  or  happiness  in  this 
world — thou  art  a  perpetually  tormenting  fiend 
to  thy  sensitive  victim.  Let  those  who  have 
never  experienced  the  tortures  of  thy  agonizing 
presence,  talk  of  the  virtue  of  enduring  thee 
with  patience,  and  recommend  philosophy  as 
an  antidote  to  the  ever-gnawing  griefs  which 
thou  inflictest.  They  speak  of  things  they 
know  not,  and  of  sensations  they  cannot  feel. 
What  worldly  blessings  can  render  him  happy 
who  is  cursed  by  thee?  In  vain  shall  health 
smile,  wealth  glitter,  or  friendship  sooth,  if 
thou,  the  everlasting  memento  of  degradation, 
the  inseparable  companion  of  internal  sorrow, 
layest  thy  vexatious  burthen  on  the  crushed 
and  wearied  spirit.  Often  and  often  did  Edward 
Watson  exert  the  energies  of  a  vigorous  mind 
in  resisting  the  despondency  which  his  mal- 
conformation  perpetually  forced  upon  his  feel 
ings;  and  occasionally  he  seemed  to  gain  the 
victory.  But  it  was  only  occasionally,  and 
for  short  periods.  In  his  childhood  he  had  borne 
the  scoff  of  his  playmates,  and  endured  the  vex 
ation  of  being  unable  to  vie  with  them  in  the 


OF  WYOMING.  15 

fleetness  or  dexterity  required  for  their  pas 
times.  .  His  college  years,  indeed,  were  less 
mortifying,  as  his  competitions  there  did  not 
require  bodily  so  much  as  mental  exertions. 
Yet  even  there  his  disfiguration  was  not  with 
out  its  annoyances.  On  any  occasion  of  pub 
lic  display  amidst  the  assembled  youths  of  his 
own  age — in  parties  or  processions,  he  expe 
rienced  an  humbling  sense  of  inferiority;  and  in 
the  hours  of  relaxing  exercise,  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  an  outcast  from  their  companionship — un 
fit  to  mingle  in  their  feats  of  strength  or  their 
trials  of  agility. 

These  feelings  rendered  him  averse  from 
mixing  unnecessarily  with  society,  or  expos 
ing  himself  to  the  view  of  a  numerous  popula 
tion.  After  the  death  of  his  parents,  he,  there 
fore,  persuaded  his  sister  to  remove  with  htm 
from  the  populous  neighbourhood  of  their  birth, 
near  Hartford  in  Connecticut,  to  the  retired 
and  fertile  settlement  of  Wyoming,  among  the 
colonists  of  which  he  had  many  relations  who 
had  written  him  pressing  invitations  to  re 
side  amongst  them.  He  accordingly  sold  his 
little  property  near  Hartford,  and,  with  his 
sister,  joining  a  small  party  of  his  neighbours, 
whose  views  were  directed  to  the  same  desti 
nation,  proceeded  to  Wyoming.  Here  he  was 
soon  engaged  in  the  successful  pursuit  of  his 
profession,  and  might  have  felt  happy  amidst 


16  THE  BETROTHED 

a  simple  and  benevolent  people,  by  whom  Fit 
was  respected  and  beloved,  but  for  the  influ 
ence  of  the  most  pleasing  and  most  irresistible 
of  passions.  He  loved;  but  he  loved  in  silence 
and  despair;  for  when  he  reflected  on  his  defor 
mity,  he  imagined  that  he  never  could  be 
blessed  with  a  return  of  affection,  ardent  and 
faithful  as  his  own.  The  object  of  his  passion 
was  faultlessly  beautiful  in  features  as  well  as  in 
symmetry  of  person.  And  could  he,  blemished 
as  he  was,  and  "curtailed  of  nature's  fair  pro 
portion,"  expect  to  elicit  passion  in  the  breast 
of  one  so  lovely — one  whom  many  gallant  and 
brave  and  graceful  youths,  endowed  with  all 
that  could  recommend  them  to  a  lady's  eye, 
loved  with  ardour  and  sued  in  vain.  Could  one 
who  was  so  perfect  in  the  love-kindling  graces 
of  the  outward  form  as  Agnes  Norwood — for  it 
was  she  for  whom  he  pined — cast  her  regard  on 
him  who  was  unseemly  even  in  his  own 
eyes?  "It  were  vain  to  expect  it,"  he  des- 
pondingly  sighed;  "I  dare  not  hazard  an  at 
tempt  to  win  her.  I  now  enjoy  her  friendship, 
and  her  intimacy  with  my  sister  affords  me 
often  the  high  blessing  of  her  society.  Shall 
I  forfeit  this,  and  expose  myself  to  scorn  and 
mockery,  by  an  imprudent  disclosure  of  my 
passion?  It  would  be  vanity — it  would  be 
madness,  it  would  be  disappointment,  humilia- 


OP  WYOMING.  17 

tionand — despair.  She  would  reject — she  would 
avoid — she  would  despise  me." 

Though  his  heart  was  thus  torn  with  a  secret 
and  hopeless  passion,  and  preyed  upon  by 
the  melancholy  reflections  which  had  embit 
tered  his  whole  life,  yet  to  the  public  eye 
he  appeared  neither  morose  nor  fretful.  His 
repinings  were,  confined  to  his  own  bosom. 
His  sister,  indeed,  had  long  known  the  extent 
of  his  early  and  irremediable  sorrows;  and  sus 
picions  of  the  additional  unhappiness  which  he 
now  endured,  had  sprung  up  in  her  mind;  and 
her  anxious,  but  silent  observations,  soon  ripen 
ed  them  into  certainty.  She  loved  her  brother 
with  the  tenderest  affection.  She  sympathised 
in  his  sufferings,  and  keenly  felt  all  his  woes. 
But  she  never  alluded  to  them.  Her  good 
sense  told  her  that  they  shrunk  from  observa 
tion,  and  were  of  too  delicate  a  texture  to  bear 
the  gentle  touch  of  even  a  sister's  kindness. 
Her  chief  study  was  to  render  agreeable  to  him, 
the  enjoyments  of  home,  and  to  sooth  him  with 
those  daily  comforts  which  the  female  mana 
ger  of  our  household  concerns  alone  can  sup 
ply.  He  was  not  unobservant  of  these  atten 
tions.  He  felt  grateful  for  them.  They  endeared 
his  sister  to  him.  They  made  him  feel  that 
the  world  was  not  a  desolation;  that  it  contain 
ed  at  least  one  being  who  loved  him,  and  was 


18  THB  BETROTHED 

solicitous  for  his  happiness.  He  thanked  Hea 
ven  for  the  blessing,  and  felt  that  his  existence 
was  not  altogether  in  vain,  while  it  contributed 
to  the  support  and  satisfaction  of  one  so  affec 
tionate  and  worthy  of  his  regard.  On  her 
account  he  pursued  his  calling  with  industry  y 
and  assumed  a  cheerfulness  in  society  little 
accordant  with  the  internal  state,  of  his  feelings. 
Mary  Watson  was  not  a  beauty  in  the  pic 
torial  sense  of  the  word.  But  she  was  far  from 
being  disagreeable  to  look  upon.  Benevolence 
and  good  nature  ever  shone  from  her  counte 
nance.  Her  features  were  sufficiently  regular, 
but  they  were  marked  by  some  traces  of  the 
small  pox;  and  her  complexion,  though  indi 
cating  health,  boasted  but  little  of  the  delicate 
intermixture  of  the  rose  and  thelily  which  ani 
mated  the  blooming  countenance  of  her  friend 
Agnes  Norwood, 


OP  WYOMING. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Behold  the  pest  of  civil  strife, 
Destructive  foe  of  human  life, 
He  comes,  with  havoc  in  his  train, 
And  rides  on  ruin  o'er  the  plain  ! 

Sefton. 

In  the  year  1776,  the  tempest  of  civil  war 
gathered  fearfully  over  this  continent,  and 
frowned  with  peculiar  wrath  on  the  region  of 
New  England.  The  cause  of  American  liberty 
had  aroused  that  section.of  the  country  to  arms, 
even  before  the  sister  colonies  had  determined 
on  a  union  of  strength  to  expel  foreign  dicta 
tion  and  secure  independence.  But  on  a  ques 
tion  so  important,  one  involving  so  many  con 
flicting  opinions,  feelings,  and  interests  as  that 
which  then  agitated  the  country,  it  could  not 
be  expected  that  there  would  be  unanimity  of 
sentiment  and  action.  Many  opposed,  even 
by  force  of  arms,  the  cause  of  their  country, 
and  the  names  of  Whig  and  Tory  became  the 
distinguishing  appellations  of  parties  that  were 
more  fiercely  arrayed  against  each  other,  than 
the  factions  so  called  had  ever  been  in  Great 
Britain.  The  tories  of  New  England  had  ex 
erted  themselves  very  early  in  the  struggle. 
But  they  constituted,  although  a  bold,  a  very 
small  minority  in  that  patriotic  section,  and 


50  THE  BETROTHED 

were  soon  subdued.  Among  the  most  trouble 
some  and  dangerous  of  the  bands  into  which 
they  formed  themselves,  was  one  commanded 
by  an  enterprising  and  daring  youth  of  Con 
necticut,  named  Butler.  His  father  had  held  a 
lucrative  and  honourable  office  under  the  Brit 
ish  government,  and  had  been  one  of  the  first 
to  assemble  all  who  were  attached  to  the  old 
regime,  and  raise  the  standard  of  Toryism. 
His  excessive  zeal  rendered  him  imprudent, 
and  in  a  rash  attack  upon  a  party  of  the  patriots 
he  was  taken  prisoner,  tried  for  treason,  and 
executed.  His  son,  John,  already  mentioned, 
assumed  the  command  of  his  party,  and  vowed 
revenge  upon  the  Whigs  for  the  destruction  of 
his  father.  He  was  well  qualified  to  be  the 
leader  of  a  desperate  gang.  Intrepid  and  fear 
less,  but  wily  and  sagacious,  he  was  equally 
capable  of  contriving  stratagems  and  of  per 
forming  exploits.  Unscrupulous,  unprincipled, 
and  fruitful  in  expedients,  with  wonderful  ce 
lerity  he  could  retrieve  the  most  disastrous 
mischances;  and  often  when  his  enemies  sup 
posed  that  his  power  of  doing  mischief  was 
annihilated,  he  would  suddenly  come  upon 
them  with  renewed  force  and  fury,  and  make 
them  feel  that  his  arm  was  as  strong,  and  his 
heart  as  relentless  as  ever.  His  personal  qual 
ities,  as  well  as  those  of  his  mind,  fitted  him 


OP  WFOMIffG.  21 

well  to  be  a  leader  of  desperate  men  engaged 
in  a  marauding  warfare  against  the  recognised 
authorities  of  the  land.  At  once  agile  and 
athletic,  and  of  vigorous  health,  he  was  capable 
of  enduring  any  fatigue,  and  sustaining  every 
privation  to  which  the  adventurous  and  dan 
gerous  courses  he  pursued  so  frequently  expos 
ed  him.  He  had  also  an  air  of  dignity  and 
loftiness  in  his  appearance,  which  contributed 
much  to  secure  him  the  complete  ascendency- 
he  possessed  over  his  followers. 

Many  and  terrible  were  the  slaughters,  the 
burnings,  and  the  desolations  committed  by 
Butler  and  his  guerilla  band  on  the  fairest  por 
tions  of  Connecticut.  His  name  soon  became 
so  terrible,  that  rewards  were  offered  for  his 
apprehension,  and  the  militia  of  the  country- 
made  every  effort  to  effect  his  destruction.  He 
was  at  length  taken,  carried  to  New  Haven, 
and  condemned  to  the  same  fate  his  father  had 
borne,  a  fate  which  he  had  so  cruelly  avenged, 
and  so  amply  deserved.  But  he  died  not. 
Love  saved  him.  Oh!  what  is  so  faithful! 
what  is  so  energetic!  what  is  so  precious  to 
man  as  woman's  love!  Isabella  Austin  loved 
the  traitor,  although  she  approved  not  the  trea 
son,  for  her  father's  family  were  Whigs.  fShc 
deceived  his  gaoler — she  procured  admission  to 
the  convict;  and  the  same  stratagem  which 


22  THE  BETEOTHED 

afterwards  saved  the  life  of  the  celebrated  L* 
Vallette,  now  saved  that  of  John  Butler. 

Uriah  Austin,  the  father  of  his  deliverer, 
and  his  family,  with  some  other  families  in 
the  neighbourhood,  were  then  preparing  to  fly 
from  the  war-scourged  plains  of  New  England, 
in  search  of  repose  and  safety  in  the  valley,  of 
Wyoming.  By  the  entreaties  of  his  daughter, 
and  influenced  by  his  own  feelings  of  compas 
sion,  Mr.  Austin  was  prevailed  upon  to  grant 
shelter  and  protection  to  the  fugitive  whose 
principles  and  conduct  he  reprobated,  but  who 
now  threw  his  life  into  his  hands  and  assumed 
the  mask  of  penitence,  professing  his  desire  to 
accompany  his  protectors  to  the  country  of 
Wyoming,  where  some  of  his  relatives  were 
already  settled,  and  where  he  solemnly  pledged 
himself  to  lead  a  life  of  peace.  The  good 
hearted  Mr.  Austin  consented,  and  even  pro 
mised,  in  the  event  of  his  continued  amend 
ment  for  a  length  of  time  sufficient  to  prove  its 
sincerity,  to  consent  to  his  union  with  his 
daughter. 

It  was  early  in  the  month  of  May,  1776,  on 
a  day  beautiful  and  serene  as  the  unclouded  sun 
in  spring  ever  illuminated,  that  a  company  of 
travellers,  with  their  wives  and  children,  num 
bering  altogether  about  fifty  persons,  were  seen 
pursuing  their  way  slowly  along  the  right  bank 


OP  WYOMING-  23 

of  the  Susquehanna  in  the  direction  of  the  Vil 
lage  of  Wyoming.  They  were  accompanied 
by  a  numerous  drove  of  cattle,  and  about  a  dozen 
teams,  to  which  were  attached  large  wagons 
laden  with  all  the  requisites  of  household  com 
fort.  Interspersed  among  these,  at  irregular 
distances,  a  number  of  smaller  vehicles,  chiefly 
gigs  and  dearborns,  bore  along  the  females  and 
the  children,  the  aged  and  the  infirm  of  the 
party.  In  advance  of  these,  two  active  young 
men,  armed,  as  if  for  the  chace,  with  rifles  and 
hunting  knives,  pursued  their  way  on  foot  at 
a  much  brisker  rate  than  the  rest  of  the  compa 
ny.  These,  aided  by  a  couple  of  pointers, 
were  on  the  look-out  for  game,  as  the  wild 
deer  and  the  wild  pigeons  were  then  abundant 
in  the  woods.  Of  the  latter  they  had  made 
considerable  prey,  when,  considering  that  they 
were  now  some  miles  separated  from  their 
friends,  they  sat  down  on  a  bank  that  over 
looked  the  river,  at  a  turning  of  the  road,  to 
await  their  approach. 

The  impressive  stillness  of  undisturbed  na 
ture  was  around  them.  The  river  lay  in  a 
smooth  and  glittering  sheet,  like  an  immense 
mirror,  beneath  them,  while  a  sombre  forest 
stretched  far  beyond  it,  whose  tall  tops  seem 
ed  to  touch  the  heavens  at  the  verge  of  the 
horizon.  Behind  them  at  a  very  short  dis- 


24  THE  BETROTHED 

tance,  an  oak-bearing  mountain,  one  of  those- 
that  separated  the  surrounding  country  into  so 
many  fruitful  and  pleasant  valleys,  raised  its 
lofty  summit  to  the  skies,  as  if  it  would  penetrate 
the  secrets  of  the  elements  above. 

"  How  solemn  is  the  deep  tranquillity  of  the 
magnificent  scene  now  before  us!"  said  Henry 
Austin  to  his  companion,  John  Butler,  the 
fugitive  from  justice,  with  whom  the  reader  is 
already  acquainted.  Henry  was  the  only  son 
of  Uriah  Austin  who  had  afforded  Butler  his 
protection,  and  the  only  brother  of  Isabella,  who 
had  saved  the  life  of  that  offender.  He  was  at 
this  time  little  more  than  twenty  years  of  age; 
warm,  open,  and  generous  in  his  disposition, 
and  so  zealous  in  the  cause  for  which  his  coun 
try  was  then  struggling,  that  he  panted  to  en 
rol  himself  amongst  her  defenders  ;  and  but 
for  the  commands  of  his  father,  whom  he  never 
yet  had  ventured  to  disobey,  he  would,  ere 
this,  have  arrayed  himself  in  their  ranks. 

Although  Butler,  in  his  heart,  disliked  the 
patriotism  of  this  brave  youth,  he  was  aware 
of  the  imprudence  of,  at  this  time,  expressing 
his  feelings;  and,  with  profound  dissimulation, 
he  continued  to  affect  penitence  for  his  former 
conduct.  In  reply  to  Henry's  remark,  he  said, 
"this  tranquillity  forms  a  striking  but  pleasing 
contrast  to  the  scenes  of  tumult,  strife,  and 


OF  WYOMING,  25 

blood,  in  which  I  was  so  lately  engaged;  but 
vhich,  thanks  to -your  generous-hearted  sister, 
1  now,  from  my  very  soul,  abhor." 

"  What  is  past  cannot  be  recalled,"  replied 
Henry.  "  It  is  useless  to  grieve  for  it.  When 
penitence  is  sincere,  it  ought  to  procure  the 
forgiveness  of  error.  But  let  us  not  allude  to 
the  past  when  its  memory  is  unpleasant.  Let 
it  sink  into  forgetfulness;  and  let  the  future 
engage  our  attention.  Our  country  is,  at  this 
moment,  engaged  in  a  tremendous  struggle 
against  a  powerful  foe. — Oh!  that  I  could  fly 
to  her  assistance." 

"  Your  enthusiasm  is  natural  to  your  youth," 
said  Butler,  with  an  internal  sneer.  "But,  my 
dear  Henry,  you  cannot  be  every  where;  and 
you  are  now  where  your  duty  requires  you, 
comforting  your  parents  in  their  old  age,  and 
assisting  them  to  find  a  place  of  safety  from  the 
terrors  of  the  times." 

"I  should,  indeed,"  replied  Henry,  ube 
unwilling  to  desert  my  friends  in  their  present 
circumstances.  But  the  very  repose  of  this 
mighty  solitude  that  surrounds  us,  recalls  to 
my  mind,  by  the  force  of  contrast,  the  agita 
tions,  the  dangers  and  the  sufferings  that  now 
shake  our  native  land  to  its  centre,  and  over 
whelm  thousands  of  her  sons  and  daughters  in 
irretrievable  ruin.  When  I  think  of  this,  I 
c 


26  THE  BETROTHED 

cannot  but  sigh,  that  I  am  prevented  from  has 
tening  to  her  aid;  and,  if  she. conquers,  to  share 
in  her  glory,  or  if  she  falls,  to  partake  of  her 
calamities." 

"Your  patriotism  is  sublime!"  said  Butler, 
with  an  irony  of  tone  which  Henry's  inexpe 
rience  of  hypocrisy  prevented  him  from  obser 
ving.  "  The  profound  silence  of  the  present 
scene  is,  indeed,  strongly  distinguished  from 
the  sounding  of  the  trumpet,  the  echoing  of 
the  bugle,  or  the  roaring  of  the  cannon,  and  all 
the  other  clamours  of  brazen-throated  war,  which 
now  roll  their  alarums  along  our  sea-board, 
from  Boston  to  Savannah.  But  should  we  not 
bless  Providence,  that  those  we  love  best  are 
so  far  removed  from  those  clamours,  and  that 
we  are  present  to  defend  them  from  whatever 
dangers  may  assail  them? — for  even  here  dan 
ger  may  come. — Yes,  Henry,  tranquil  as  things 
now  are  amidst  this  remote  solitude,  your  mar 
tial  ardour  may  yet  be  needed  even  here.  The 
savage  prowler,  whose  amity  is  so  uncertain,- 
is  in  the  vicinity." 

At  this  moment  their  attention  was  drawn 
to  a  tall  man  of  rather  elderly  appearance, 
clothed  in  a  wild  mixture  of  savage  and  civil 
ized  apparel,  hurrying  down  the  mountain  be 
hind  them.  He  soon  approached,  and  address 
ed  them  with  hasty  utterance — 


-. 


OP  WYOMING.  27 

"  White  men — Christians — if  ye  have  any 
of  the  compassionate  feelings  which  Christians 
are  said  to  possess,  haste  with  me  to  rescue 
from  the  cruelty  of  the  savages,  two  young 
females  of  your  own  ^nation,  who  have  fallen 
into  their  hands!" 

"Lead  on,"  cried  Henry,  "  we  will  fol 
low;"  and  Butler  echoed  the  reply.  The  hill 
was  soon  ascended;  and  about  twenty  minutes' 
rapid  race  along  its  summit,  brought  them  to  a 
steep  and  dangerous  declivity,  down  a  narrow 
and  scarcely,  traceable  path  of  which  their 
aged  conductor  plunged  with  unhesitating  alac 
rity,  and  they  as  fearlessly  followed.  At 
length,  on  coming  to  a  tall  and  precipitous  rock, 
the  base  of  which  reached  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hill,  their  guide  halted. 

"Let  us  now  proceed  more  cautiously," 
said  he.  Then  in  a  stooping  posture,  so  as  to 
be  concealed  by  the  brushwood,  he  preceded 
them  slowly  and  in  silence  for  a  short  distance. 
The  brushwood  then  terminated,  and  afforded 
them  a  clear  view  into  a  small  glade  in  the 
valley  beneath  them. 

"My  part  is  now  done.  What  remains  is 
yours,"  said  the  old  man,  and  he  disappeared. 

Our  adventurers  beheld  two  white  females 
seated  on  a  log;  and  three  savages,  two  of 
whom  were  employed  at  a  large  fire,  appar- 


28  THE  BETROTHED 

ently  preparing  food,  while  the  third-  seem 
ed  to  act  as  sentinel  over  the  females.  .  A 
short  consultation  soon  determined  the  mea 
sures  they  should  adopt.  They  cautiously  de 
scended  a  little  lower  among  the  brushwood. 
till  they  approached  near  enough  to  take  a  sure 
aim,  when,  both  firing  at  the  same  moment. 
two  of  the  Indians  fell  dead.  The  third  seized 
a  musket;  but  the  assailants  being  sheltered  by 
a  large  tree,  were  secure  from  his  fire,  until 
they  had  time  to  re-load.  But  before  that  had 
taken  place,  another  Indian,  who  had  been 
straggling  a  short  distance  from  the  group,  ap 
peared  upon  the  scene,  armed  also  with  a  mus 
ket.  Instead  of  firing,  however,  the  two  sava 
ges  hastened  from  the  glade  to  take  shelter 
behind  the  adjoining  trees,  which  they  reached 
in  safety. 

Austin  and  Butler  were  now,  for  a  space, 
perplexed  how  to  proceed.  But  the  latter,  beine. 
experienced  in  every  mode,  of  bush-fighting, 
soon  determined  on  his  measures.  Instructing 
his  companion  to  remain  stationary,  with  his 
rifle  displayed  so  as  to  deceive  the  Indians,  he 
cautiously  approached  them  in  a  circuitous 
direction,  concealed  by  the  woods,  until  he 
gained  a  sure  aim  at  one  of  them,  whom  he  shot 
through  the  heart.  The  other,  with  a  loud 
yell,  darted  from  his  statjon,  exposing  himself, 


OF  WYOMING.  29 

in  his  flight,  to  the  view  of  Austin,  who  fired, 
but  missed  him.  The  savage,  now  that  both 
his  antagonists  had  discharged  their  pieces, 
rushed,  with  desparation,  towards  Austin,  who, 
in  a  few  moments,  found  himself  in  contact 
with  his  furious  enemy,  whom,  with  one  blow 
of  his  rifle,  he  felled  to  the  earth.  On  account 
of  the  tree  which  protected  him,  the  Indian 
had  found  no  opportunity  of  firing  at  him  un 
til  he  received  the  blow  which  disabled  him . 
from  firing  with  effect.  The  gun  was  dis 
charged  in  the  scuffle,  but  its  contents  lodged 
harmlessly  in  the  side  of  the  hill.  In  an  in 
stant,  however,  the  savage  was  again  on  his 
feet.  He  was  a  powerful  and  active  man,  and 
Austin  would  have  had  a  dangerous  and  diffi 
cult  struggle  to  undergo,  had  not  his  antagonist 
perceived  the  approach  of  Butler.  One  leap 
carried  him  almost  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
where  he  plunged  amidst  the  thickest  of  the 
woods,  and  disappeared. 

The  attention  of  the  victors  was  now  direct 
ed  to  the  females,  who  had  fled,  with  terror, 
into  the  woods,  at  the  commencement  of  the 
combat.  But  the  extreme  thickness  of  the 
undergrowth  rendered  it  impossible  for  them 
to  proceed  far.  They,  however,  secreted  them 
selves,  and  anxiously  awaited  the  issue  of  the 
c  2 


30  THE  BETROTHED 

contest.  Finding  that  their  deliverers  were 
victorious,  they  re-appeared  to  express  their 
gratitude  and  throw  themselves  on  their  pro 
tection. 

But  who  can  imagine  the  sensations  of  Henry 
Austin,  when  he  beheld  so  lovely  a  being  as 
Agnes  Norwood,  kneeling  to  return  thanks  to 
Heaven  for  her  deliverance,  in  effecting  which 
he  had  the  happiness  of  being  so  instrumental. 
Her  amiable  companion,  Mary  Watson,  who 
knelt  beside  her;  his  own  companion  and  col 
league  in  the  victory,  Butler;  the  slain  Indians; 
the  whole  scene  of  woods  and  mountains,  earth 
and  the  heavens,  that  surrounded  him,  all — all 
were  forgotten,  or  rather  extinguished  in  the 
absorbing  sensation  of  that  enrapturing  gaze 
with  which  he  beheld  her.  And  she,  when 
her  grateful  outpourings  to  Heaven  were  finish 
ed,  and  rising  to  salute-  him,  for  the  first  time 
noticed  his  ardent  gaze,  and  surveyed  his  gener 
ous  countenance — she,  too,  felt  as  if  there  was 
none  but  him  in  the  world. — From  that  mo 
ment,  indeed,  they  became  all  the  world  to 
each  other.  On  that  spot,  and  in  that  moment, 
love  exerted  his  supremacy  over  two  youthful 
hearts  as  pure,  as  fervent,  and  as  faithful  as 
ever  beat  in  human  bosoms.  It  is  true,  they 
were  entire  strangers;  they  knew  nothing  of 


OF  WYOMING.  31 

each  otherj  and  yet  they  felt  as  if  they,  for  the 
first  time,  beheld  beauty  -and  perfection,  of 
whose  existence  they  had  been  long  aware, 
but  which  had  never  before  been  presented  to 
them  in  a  vision  so  full  -of  truth,  blessedness, 
and  love. 


THE  BETROTHED 


CHAPTER  III. 

Fierce  prowler,  to  thy  woods  away, 
AVhy  should  the  virtuous  be  thy  prey  •" 
Why  doth  thine  eye  licentious  rove 
'       On  maiden's  charms  for  maiden's  love; 
Or  is  it  vengeance  fires  thy  heart, 
To  act  the  unmanly  ruffian's  part? 

Sefton. 

The  outrage  upon  Miss  Norwood  and  her 
friend,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  wa? 
the  first  that  had  been  committed  by  the  In 
dians,  on  any  of  the  inhabitants  of  Wyoming, 
for  many  years.  It  was,  therefore,  totally  un 
expected,  and  threw  the  whole  district  into  the 
utmost  consternation.  It  was  caused  by  the 
intestine  commotion  which  then  agitated  the 
'  whole  continent.  It  was  one  of  the  remote 
heavings  of  that  might  commotion  which  ef 
fected  such  a  change  in  the  destinies  of  man — 
the  American  Revolution.  A  crisis  was  then 
taking  place  in  the  fortunes  of  the  western 
world,  and  such  a  one  as  was  not  to  be  accom 
plished  without  a  violence,  which  shook  the 
fabric  of  society,  and  was  felt  at  the  most  ex 
treme  verge  of  civilization. 

The  outrage  we  are  now  considering,  was 
excited  by  some  fugitive  tories  from  New 
England,  who  had  taken  refuge  among  the  sa 
vages.  Its  origin  was,  in  truth,  closely  con- 


OF  WYOMING.  33 

nected  with  the  affairs  of  Butler,  although,  ig 
norant  of  the  circumstance,  he  was  so  instru 
mental  in  defeating  and  avenging  it.  His  pro 
secutors,  the  Whigs  of  New  Haven,  had  many 
relations  among  the  settlers  of  Wyoming.  In 
revenge,  therefore,  for  the  condemnation  pass 
ed  upon  him,  which  it  was  not  doubted  would 
be  executed,  as  well  as  in  resentment  of  the 
patriotic  principles  which  predominated  in 
the  settlement,  some  of  his  gang,  after  its  dis 
persion  in  Connecticut,  fled  to  the  country  of 
the  Mohawk  Indians,  and  exerted  every  arti 
fice  to  inflame  them  against  the  settlers.  The 
Mohawks  were  ready  enough  to  hearken  to 
these  instigations,  not  only  on  account  of  their 
desire  for  plunder,  but  also  of  some  claim? 
which  they  had  to  a  portion  of  the  lands  oc 
cupied  by  the  settlement. 

Their  chiefs,  however,  would  not  rashly  en 
gage  in  such  a  war.  The  neigbouring  whites, 
with  whom  they  had  long  lived  on  peaceable 
terms, had  given  them  no  recent  cause  of  offence. 
Besides,  in  the  quarrel  between  the  government 
of  Britain  and  the  colonies,  they  believed  that 
their  wisest  course  would  be  to  remain  neutral. 
Old  resentment  against  the  colonies,  however, 
operated  in  their  minds.  They  had  not  for 
gotten  the  usurpation  of  their  lands,  and  the  ex 
terminating  wars  so  frequently  waged  against 


THE  BETROTHED 

their  race.  While,  therefore,  they  refused  as 
a  nation  to  commit  any  act  of  hostility,  they 
permitted  it  to  be  understood  that  they  would 
not  too  strictly  scrutinize  the  conduct  of  any 
individuals  of  their  tribe  whjo  might  join  the 
tories  in  their  depredations  on  the  whigs,  or 
undertake  of  themselves,  any  enterprise  against 
the  frontier  settlements.  In  consequence  of 
this  tacit  permission,  many  of  the  more  adven 
turous  Indians  began  in  small  parties  to  harass 
the  colonists  for  the  purposes  of  plunder  or  re 
venge.  The  seizure  of  Agnes  Norwood  and 
her  companion,  Mary  Watson,  the  issue  of 
which  has  been  narrated,  was  the  first  of  a  se 
ries  of  outrages  which  the  inhabitants  of  Wy 
oming  were  destined  to  endure  from  the  spi 
rit  of  hostility  thus  awakened  in  the  minds  of 
the  savages.  The  suggestion  of  one  Silas 
Bateman,  a  zealous  partizan  of  Butler,  was  the 
immediate  cause  of  this  outrage.  He  applied 
himself  to  a  half-breed  Indian  of  a  daring  and 
ferocious  character,  who  possessed  great  influ 
ence  among  the  Mohawks;  This  man's  name, 
which  has  since  become  infamous  ,in  history, 
was  Brandt  He  had,  for  some  time  past,  har 
boured  much  animosity  against  the  people  of 
Wyoming,  and  particularly  against  Dr.  Wat 
son,  of  whose  character  the  reader  is  already 
apprised.  This  arose  from  the  following  inci 
dent, 


OP  WYOMING.  35 

About  two  years  before  the  present  adven 
ture,  Brandt  had  accompanied  a  trading  party 
of  his  tribe  to  Wyoming.  While  there,  in  a 
fit  of  intoxication,  he  quarrelled  with  one  of 
the  inhabitants,  whom  he  wounded  with  a 
knife,  so  dangerously,  that  recovery  was  not 
expected.  Brandt  was  arrested,  and  the  evi 
dence  of  Dj.  Watson,  who  had  witnessed-  the 
affray,  was  decisive  against  him.  He  was  con 
victed;  but  as  the  person  whom  he  wounded, 
had  not  died,  he  was  only  sentenced  to  some 
months  imprisonment,  a  punishment  to  which 
the  leaders  of  his  tri.be  gave  their  consent,  ac 
knowledging  it  to  be  just.  Brandt,  however, 
considered  himself  disgraced,  and  resented  it 
exceedingly.  Before  half  the  term  of  his  sen 
tence  had  transpired,  he  broke  from  prison 
and  escaped;  his  bosom  glowing  with  revenge 
against  the  whole  of  the  population  of  Wyom 
ing,  but  particularly  against  Dr.  Watson,  whom 
he  looked  upon  as  the  principal  author  of  his 
disgrace. 

He  was,  therefore,  a  willing  listener  to  the 
suggestions  of  Bateman,  and  a  ready  instru 
ment  in  his  hands,  to  execute  any  enterprise 
of  violence  against  the  objects  of  his  resent 
ment.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  he  understood 
that  the  chiefs  of  his  tribe  would  be  willing  to 
overlook  whatever  outrage  he  might  commit 


36  THE  BETROTHED 

upon  the  whites,  he,  in  conjunction  with  three 
of  his  boldest  and  most  zealous  confederates, 
undertook  the  enterprise  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  terminated  so  disastrously  for  his  party, 
he  himself  being  the  only  one  that  escaped. 
His  chief  object  was  the  destruction  of  Dr. 
Watson.  But  in  this  he  was  disappointed,  the 
intended  victim  happening  to  be  frpm  home  at 
the  time  of  the  attack.  The  doctor's  house  be 
ing  situated  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  was 
easily  assailed;  and  the  attack  was  made  at  a 
late  hour  in  the  ev-ening,  when  the  assailants 
supposed  there  was  little  danger  of  alarming 
the  inhabitants  before  the  completion  of  their 
design.  Unhappily  lor  Agnes  Norwood,  she 
happened  to  be  on  a  visit  to  her  friend  at  the 
time  the  marauders  entered  the  house.  The 
only  other  inmates  were  a  male  and  a  female 
servant.  The  former  in  attempting  to  resist 
the  entrance  of  the  savages,  was  killed;  the 
latter  escaped  by  a  back  door,  and  hastened  to 
alarm  the  village.  The  savages  perceived  this, 
and  knowing  there  was  no  time  to  plunder  or 
destroy  any  of  the  property,  they  seized  the 
terrified  Agnes  and  Mary,  stiffled  their,  cries 
by  gagging  them,  and  carried  them  off.  The 
direction  of  their  flight  was  not  known  to  any 
of  the  villagers,  and  although  an  active  pursuit 
was  soon  commenced,  it  was  in  vain.  But  Pro- 


OP  WYOMING.  57 

violence  sent  deliverance  to  the  captives  from 
another  quarter.  An  old  jnan,  of  singular  ha 
bits,  and  mysterious  conduct,  usually  known 
by  the  name  of  the  "  Hermit  of  the  Woods," 
made  his  haunts  in  a  secluded  and  rugged  val 
ley  some  miles  distant.  Here,  the  day  follow 
ing  the  outrage,  he  discovered  the  savages, 
with  their  captives,  encamped  for  the  purpose 
of  rest  and  refreshment.  Having,  from  the 
arrangements  they  were  making,  satisfied  him 
self  that  they  intended  remaining  there  for  the 
night,  he  set  off  with  the  design  of  apprising 
the  people  of  Wyoming,  when,  on  his  way, 
he  met  with  Austin  and  Butler,  as  before 
stated. 

On  the  return  of  Agnes  and  Mary  under 
the  protection  of  their  deliverers,  to  their  dis 
consolate  friends,  the  joy  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Wyoming  may  be  easier  imagined  than  ex 
pressed.  The  sincerest  gratitude  towards  their 
deliverers  pervaded  every  bosom.  Austin  and 
Butler  became  favourites  throughout  the  whole 
settlement.  The  toryism  and  late  misconduct 
of  the  latter,  though  they  were  universally 
known,  were  universally  forgiven.  His  con 
version  from  error  was  considered  sincere; 
and,  whatever  had  been  his  guilt,  it  was  am 
ply  atoned  for  by  the  important  service  he  had 
now  rendered.  As  for  Austin,  there  was  no 

D 


THE  BETROTHED 

drawback  upon  the  esteem  in  which  he  was 
held.  The  arrival  of  his  friends  was  hailed  a? 
a  valuable  acquisition,  which,  in  truth,  it  was, 
to  the  strength  and  resources  of  the  colony. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  among  those  who 
felt  most  gratitude  for  the  services,  and  esteem 
for  the  virtues,  of  Henry  Austin,  was  to  be 
found  the  father  of  Agnes  Norwood.  The  fer 
vour  with  which  he  strained  his  hand  to  his 
heart  when,  with  tears  of  joy,  he  thanked  him 
for  the  preservation  of  his  daughter,  imparted 
to  Henry's  feelings  a  thrill  of  delight  that  would 
have  amply  repaid,  a  thousand-fold  the  degree 
of  danger  he  encountered  in  the  performance  of 
that  happy  achievement.  Butler,  too,  received 
from  Mr.  Norwood  the  thanks  which  he  de 
served.  But  his  experienced  eye  perceived 
the  superior  fervour  with  which  the  reverend 
gentleman,  perhaps  unconsciously,  addressed 
his  companion.  He  also  observed  the  looks 
which  spoke  a  feeling  much  warmer  than  the 
warmest  gratitude,  that  brightened  the  counte 
nance  of  the  lovely  Agnes,  whenever  she  would 
rest  her  eyes  on  the  happy  Henry.  The  fiend 
of  jealousy,  from  that  moment,  seized  upon  the 
depraved  spirit  of  Butler.  He  began  to  hate 
Henry;  and  forgetful  of  the  obligation  he  owed 
his  sister  Isabella,  and  the  impassioned  vows 
he  had  often  pledged  to  her,  he  began  even  to 


OP  WYOMING.  39 

dislike  her.  A-  new  and  fiercer  flame,  inspir 
ed  by  the  superior  charms  of  Agnes,  had  arisen 
in  his  breast.  But  he  was  an  adept  in  deception, 
and  had  the  art  to  conceal  the  change  in  his 
feelings,  and  even  to  conduct  himself  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  gain  upon  the  esteem  of  those  he 
hated.  He  had  several  very  influential  relations 
in  the  colony;  one  of  whom,  a  cousin,  named 
Zebulon  Butler,  with  whom  he  chiefly  resided, 
was  so  popular,  that  he  was,  shortly  after  this 
period,  elected  commander  of  the  small  army 
which  the  inhabitants  raised  for  their  protec 
tion  from  any  future  aggression  of  the  Indians. 
This  circumstance  had,  for  a  time,  some  influ 
ence  in  counteracting  the  effects  of  Butler's  jea 
lousy  of  Henry,  and  his  increasing  hatred  of 
the  Austins.  He  hoped  that  he  might  yet,  by 
adopting  a  popular  course  of  conduct,  raise 
himself  to  an  equal  influence  with  his  cousin; 
and  acquire  such  a  degree  of  authority  in  the 
colony  as  would  enable  him  to  accomplish  his 
views  of  matrimony,  .with  the  fascinating  Agnes, 
in  despite  of  the  present  favour  enjoyed  by  his 
rival. 

Henry,  in  the  mean  time,  did  not  dream  of 
the  alteration  that  had  taken  place  in  the  feel 
ings  and  designs  of  Butler.  He  conceived  that 
gratitude  and  love  had  bound  him  firmly  to  his 
sister,  and  to  the  interests  of  all  her  friends. 


40  THE  BETROTHED 

His  professions  of  attachment  to  the  popular 
cause  seemed  to  be  unquestionably  sincere,  and 
as  it  was  a  cause  in  which  Henry  was  an  en 
thusiast,  he  could  not  but  esteem  him  the  more 
for  that  attachment.  Henry,  therefore,  treated 
Butler  as  an  assured  friend,  who  had  shared 
with  him  the  glory  of  a  noble  and  fortunate  ex 
ploit,  and  was  likely  soon  to  become  nearly 
connected  with  him  by  a  union  with  his  only 
sister. 

Every  man  must  have  experienced  that  there 
are  some  characters  in  this  world,  whom  we 
may  believe  that  we  have  every  reason  to 
esteem  and  think  trust- worthy,  and  yet,  although 
we  cannot  tell  why,  we  feel  unable  to  open  to 
them  all  our  minds,  or  bestow  upon  them  our 
unreserved  regard.  There  is  an  indefinite  some 
thing  about  them  which  renders  us  backward  in 
yielding  them  our  confidence;  and,  in  despite 
of  ourselves,  limits  even  the  extent  of  our  good 
wishes  for  them.  Henry  possessed  this  feeling 
in  respect  to  Butler,  even  at  the  period  of  their 
closest  intimacy.  He  was  sorry  for  it.  He 
blamed  himself  for  a  repugnance  he  could  not 
help.  He  ascribed  it  to  prejudice  against  his 
former  course  of  life.  Often  did  he  combat 
with  it  as  an  unworthy  feeling:  but  in  vain. 
With  all  his  efforts,  he  never  could  become  the 
unreserved  friend  and  thorough  admirer  ,ojf 


OF  WYOMING.  41 

Butler.  Frequently  did  he  feel  sorry  for  his 
sister's  infatuation  in  loving  this  man;  and, 
although  her  happiness  seemed  to  depend  on  a 
union  with  him,  he  often  felt  as  if  he  could 
wish  some  event  to  take  place  which  would 
frustrate  its  accomplishment. 

But  there  was  one  man  in  the  village  to 
whom  he  delighted  to  open  his  heart;  one  whose 
integrity  of  soul,  (although  he  was  to  him,,  as 
yet,  but  a  comparative  stranger,)  he  felt  as  if  he 
would  be  committing  an  actof  dishonour  to  doubt 
— one  who,  although  reserved  and  unobtrusive, 
had  acquired  his  esteem  so  entirely,  that  he  per- 
severingly  sought  his  friendship  until  he  gained 
it.  This  person  was  Dr.  Watson.  On  his  princi 
ples  he  had  reliance,  and  in  his  confidence  he 
felt  safe.  Many  were  the  pleasant  and  instruc 
tive  hours  these  sincere  friends  passed  together 
in  the  shade  of  the  tall  oaks  that  skirted  the 
broad  rolling  Susquehanna.  The  attachment 
that  existed  between  Henry  and  Miss  Norwood, 
was  well  known  to  Dr.  Watson.  There  were, 
indeed,  but  few  people  in  the  village  who  did 
not  surmise  it.  Love  affairs  are  mighty  matters 
in  small  villages;  and  usually  furnish  the  most 
frequent  and  interesting  topics  of  gossip  which 
the  uniform  tranquillity  of  rustic  seclusion  can 
supply.  Henry  had  not  been  many  weeks  a 
resident  at  Wyoming  before  the  good  natured 
D  2 


42  THE  BETROTHED 

villagers  had  set  him  down  as  the  destined  hus 
band  of  Agnes  Norwood.  In  the  estimation 
of  all  prophetic  spirits,  it  was  so  suitable,  it 
was  so  likely,  it  was  so  just  the  thing,  that  it 
could  not  but  take  place.  ^There  was  only  one 
individual  in  the  settlement  that  dissented  from 
this  arrangement  of  the  good  villagers,  or  felt 
hostile  to  its  accomplishment.  This  individual 
was  John  Butler.  His  conviction  of  their  mu 
tual  attachment  gnawed  at  his  heart;  and  every 
allusion  to  it,  by  the  gossips  of  the  place,  stung 
him  like  a  scorpion.  He,  however,  was  a  con 
summate  master  of  duplicity,  and  preserved  a 
strict  silence  on  the  subject,  affecting  to  occupy 
his  mind  with  more  important  concerns.  But 
he  had  internally  vowed  that  their  union  never 
should  take  place,  during  his  life,  without  being 
cemented  by  blood. 

How  different  were  the  feelings  of  Dr.  Wat 
son!  He  loved  Agnes  as  passionately,  but  he 
loved  her  more  purely,  and  with  a  heart  so 
entirely  and  exclusively  devoted  to  her  wel 
fare,  that  he  ardently  wished  for  her  union 
with  the  man  she  preferred,  especially  since  he 
knew  that  man  to  be  so  eminently  qualified  to 
render  her  happy.  Such  was  the  contrast  be 
tween  the  characters  of  Henry's  rivals — the 
contrast  between  virtue  and  vice! 


OP  WYOMING.  43 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Oppression's  iron  reign  is  o'er, 

Our  bond's  are  burst,  we're  slaves  no  more. 

Let  the  triumphant  clarion  swell 

The  glorious  news  abroad  to  tell ; 

And  let  our  heartfelt  jubilee 

Declare  our  native  land  is  free. 

Sefton. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening  about  the  middle 
of  July,  1776— Shall  I  describe  it?  Nothing 
would  be  easier — nothing  more  agreeable.  All 
its  features  are,  at  this  moment,  glowing 
as  vividly  in  my  mind's  vision,  as  ever  the 
charms  of  the  fairest  landscape  shone  in  the 
corporeal  eye  of  a  poetical  admirer  of  the  glo 
ries  of  nature.  But  summer  evenings,  under 
every  variety  of  appearance,  have  been  des 
cribed  so  often  and  so  well,  that  there  is  nothing 
left  for  me  to  say;  and  to  repeat  epithets  which, 
however  appropriate  and  just,  have,  at  this  age 
of  literature,  become  trite  and  familiar,  would 
be  worse  than  supererogation — it  would  be  a 
useless  expenditure  of  my  own  time,  as  well  as 
that  of  my  readers. 

On  the  evening  to  which  I  refer,  Henry 
Austin  and  Dr.  Watson  were  enjoying  the 
cooling  breeze  in  a  favourite  retreat  among  lin 
den  trees,  on  the  bank  of  the  stream  of  Sharon. 
The  great  drama  of  the  times — in  which  all 


THE  BETROTHED 

the  daring  spirits  of  the  land  were  engaged,  was 
the  subject  of  their  conversation. 

"I  cannot  understand,"  said  Henry,  "how 
any  American,  who  has  the  feelings  of  a  man, 
can  take  part  with  a  government  that  would 
bind  his  country  in  the  fetters  of  arbitrary 
power;  for  to  lay  on  imposts  at  will,  is  to  exer 
cise  such  power.  Slaves  alone  can  be  made 
the  objects  of  unlimited  exaction — the  bearers 
of  involuntary  burthens.  The  conduct  of  our 
tories  is,  to  me,  quite  inexplicable." 

"The  opinions  of  men,"  observed  his  com 
panion,  "even  on  subjects  apparently  the  least 
liable  to  controversy,  are  so  various,  that  mere 
difference  of  sentiment  on  this  great  question, 
does  not  surprise  me.  I  can  imagine  and  be 
lieve  that  even  good  and  intelligent  men  may 
feel  a  conviction  that  the  mother  country 
has  just  claims  to  the  prerogative  she  has  at 
tempted  to  exercise.  But  that  any  number  of 
men  should  be  so  zealous  for  such  sentiments, 
as  to  enforce  them  by  the  destruction  of  their 
nearest  friends,  affords,  indeed,  a  theme  for 
astonishment,  and  implies  motives  of  action 
which  I  cannot  comprehend.  The  destructive 
hostility  of  men  towards  each  other,  for  mere 
difference  of  opinion,  which  our  country  at 
present  too  fatally  experiences,  appears  to  me 
the  height  of  criminal  infatuation,  inexplicable 


OF  WYOMING.  45 

on  any  principle  of  rational  sense  or  natural 
feeling." 

"If  those  who  have  resisted  the  encroach- 
ments  of  British  authority,"  said  Henry,  "  had, 
in  the  first  instance,  denounced  all  who  would 
not  join  in  that  resistance,  self-defence  would 
have  justified  the  tories  in  acting  as  they  have 
done.  But  no  such  denouncement  took  place. 
All  men  were  invited  to  repel  the  unjust  ag 
gression  of  Britain,  but  none  were  forced  to  do 
so— and  I  am  aware  of  no  instance  of  violence 
exerted  by  the  patriots  against  any  whose  dis 
sentient  opinions  did  not  carry  them  into  overt 
acts  of  devastation  or  bloodshed." 

"The  moderation  and  forbearance  of  the 
friends  of  liberty,  amidst  the  most  galling  pro 
vocations,"  answered  the  Doctor,  "are,  in  truth, 
worthy  of  admiration,  and  augur  favourably  of 
their  final  success.  Contrasted  with  the  fero 
city  of  the  opposite  faction,  what  praise  does  it; 
not  deserve?  But,  oh,  my  friend,  if  there  had 
been  any  means  of  avoiding  the  unhappy  strug 
gle,  without  sacrificing  the  most  invaluable 
rights,  how  much  suffering  and  sorrow  would 
have  been  avoided;  and  what  cause  would  hu 
manity  have  had  to  rejoice!  The  details  you 
have  given  me  of  scenes  you  have  yourself 
witnessed,  and  the  accounts  which  we  almost 
daily  receive  of  the  events  passing  in  our  cities 


46  THE  BETROTHED 

and  populous  districts,  are  truly  heart-rending. 
Would  to  Heaven  that  rulers  could  appreciate 
the  evil  effects  of,  at  any  time,  driving  a  gal 
lant  people  into  the  resistance  of  wrongs?" 

"  The  calamities  that  overspread  the  country, 
and  will  continue  to  do  so  while  the  contest 
lasts,"  said  Henry,  "are  indeed  to  be  deplor 
ed.  But  if  they  are  the  price  at  which  the 
liberty  of  the  country  is  to  be  purchased,  surely 
no  patriotic  heart  will  grudge  the  payment. 
The  object  for  which  we  have  chosen  to  en 
counter  the  evils  of  war  is  glorious.  If  we 
attain  it,  generations  yet  unborn  will  enjoy  its 
benefits,  and  honour  our  names,  and  bless  our 
memories,  for  the  sacrifices  we  shall  make. 
This  is  the  consummation  to  which  our  patriots 
look  forward,  as  the  glorious  recompense  of 
their  toils,  their  dangers,  and  their  sufferings." 

"If,"  said  the  Doctor,  "the  great  measure 
of  proclaiming  our  country  independent,  now 
in  agitation  by  Congress,  were  once  adopted,  I 
should  then  less  grudge  the  sacrifices  and  the 
miseries  that  the  generous  and  the  brave  of  the 
land  are  destined  to  undergo.  The  contest 
would  then  have  a  definite  aim  to  which  every 
eye  would  be  directed.  There  would  be  a  fixed 
point,  an  established  and  ascertained  object, 
round  which  every  noble  heart  would  rally, 
and  to  defend  which  every  valiant  arm  would 


.'jy.  OF  WYOMING.  47 

be  raised.  But,  at  present,  the  unsettled  and 
undetermined,  nay  often  discordant  views  of 
our  best  patriots,  distract  their  councils,  dis 
concert  their  measures,  and  expose  their  cause 
and  their  country  to  many  misfortunes  and 
much  distress,  from  which  they  might  other 
wise  be  exempted." 

"There  is  reason  to  hope,"  replied  Henry, 
"  that  affairs  will  not  remain  long  in  this  unset 
tled  condition.  Our  congress  consists  of  a  body 
of  men  of  as  firm,  fearless,  and  patriotic  minds, 
as  ever  were  assembled;  and  it  is  confidently 
believed,  that  the  members  are  well  aware  that 
the  salvation  of  the  country  depends  on  the 
adoption  of  this  great  measure.  For  myself,  I 
have  full  reliance  on  their  wisdom  and  integ 
rity,  and  have  not  the  slightest  apprehension 
that  they  will  shrink  from  their  duty." 

At  that  moment  the  Hermit  of  the  Woods — 
the  old  man  who  had  conducted  Henry  and 
Butler  to  the  rescue  of  Miss  Norwood  and  her 
friend — stood  before  them. 

"Rejoice  Americans!"  said  he — "You  are 
now  a  nation.  The  yoke  of  the  foreigner 
is  broken.  The  mighty  voice  has  gone  forth 
which  every  land  shall  hear  with  delight,  and 
every  tyrant  with  dismay,  that  you  are  FREE 
AND  INDEPENDENT.  Arouse  all  your  energies 
to  maintain  the  glorious  privilege,  ye  men  of 


4S  THE  BETROTHED 

the  new-born  nation,  for  to  do  so  your  lives, 
your  fortunes,  and  your  sacred  honour,  are 
pledged  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  and  of  the 
world!" 

"Whence  is  thy  intelligence,  Rodolph?" 
asked  Dr.  Watson. 

"Thou  dost  not  doubt  its  accuracy?  my 
son,"  inquired  the  Hermit. 

"No,  I  have  never  heard  aught  but  truth 
from  thy  lips,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "But,  to 
us,  thy  news  is  so  important  and  interesting, 
that  to  know  all  its  particulars  will  be  grateful 
to  our  hearts." 

"Yesterday,"  said  Rodolph — "by  express 
from  Philadelphia,  the  tidings  reached  Allen- 
town.  The  blessed  Declaration  was  read  in 
an  assembly  of  the  people.  I  heard  the  banks 
of  the  Lehigh  resound  with  the  acclamations  of 
the  multitude;  and  I  hastened  hither  with  the 
joyful  intelligence.  Here  is,  in  print,  a  copy 
of  the  sacred  instrument  of  your  freedom. 
Make  it  known  to  your  people.  Let  them 
raise  the  voice  of  thanksgiving  to  Heaven;  and 
dedicate,  for  ever,  to  jubilee  and  joy,  the  birth 
day  of  their  nation!" 

So  saying,  he  handed  to  Dr.  Watson  a  print 
ed  copy  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
and  hastily  disappeared. 

The  delight  with  which  the  patriotic  people 


OF  WYOMING.  49 

of  Wyoming  received  this  important  intelli 
gence,  was  expressed  by  long  and  fervent  ac 
clamations,  the  discharge  of  fire  arms,  the  pa 
rading  of  their  little  military  band,  the  blazing 
of  bonfires,  and  other  demonstrations  of  public 
rejoicing  usual  in  remote  villages.  The  clay 
following  the  arrival  of  the  news,  Mr.  Nor 
wood  invited  the  people  to  assemble  in  his 
church,  where,  after  reading  to  them  the  great 
charter  of  their  freedom,  he  addressed  them  as 
follows: 

''My  fellow  citizens:  You  have  just  heard  the 
most  important  public  manifesto  that  ever  was 
issued.  It  is  the  mighty  instrument  of  fran- 
chisemeht,  which  delivers  one  half  the  world 
from  the  thraldom  in  which  it  was  held  by  the 
other — for  not  the  present  generation  alone, 
hut  the  innumerable  unborn  millions  who  will 
yet  fill  this  immense  hemisphere,  are  destined 
to  enjoy  its  incalculable  benefits.  From  the 
date  of  this  glorious  charter,  has  commenced  a 
change  not  for  us  only,  but  for  the  human  race, 
which  will  elevate  the  humble  and  the  lowly  of 
every  clime  from  the  contempt  and  degrada 
tion  in  which  they  have  been  held  by  the  pow 
erful  and  the  proud.  The  sentiments  of  libera 
lity  promulgated  in  this  document,  will  go  forth 
like  axioms,  and  form  the  political  faith  that 
shall  regulate  the  movements  of  the  mightiest 
E 


50  THE  BETROTHED 

V 

nations.  "  All  men  are  born  equal,"  is  a  truth 
be/ore  the  prevalence  of  which  the  pretensions 
of  kings  and  nobles  to  exclusive  privileges  and 
immunities  in  the  social  system,  will  disperse 
as  the  shadow  flies  before  the  beams  of  the 
sun.  The  right  of  the  people  to  self-govern 
ment,  and  their  capacity  to  exercise  it  pro 
perly  and  to  their  own  advantage,  will  become 
recognised  as  an  article  of  belief  which  it  will 
be  thought  absurdity  to  controvert.  In  short,  man 
kind  shall  so  deeply  venerate  this  declaration, 
that  it  will  become  the  text-book  of  freedom, 
the  manual  of  patriotism  to  all  generations. 

"  What  are  its  effects  on  yourselves,  since  ye 
have  heard  the  elevating  spirit  of  its  senti 
ments,  its  bold  announcement  of  your  emanci 
pation?  Are  you  not  exalted  in  your  own  es 
timation?  Do  you  not  feel  as  if  chains  had 
fallen  from  your  limbs?  Do  you  not,  inspired 
with  the  dignity  of  freemen,  almost  imagine 
that  you  breathe  the  air  more  freely,  and 
move  with  greater  elasticity?  The  humility 
and  timidity  of  serfs  have  departed  from  your 
spirits.  But  yesterday  you  felt  as  if  your  pa 
triotism  were  treason — to-day  you  feel  that  it 
is  allegiance — allegiance  to  the  country  of  your 
birth,  to  the  government  of  your  choice,  and 
not  to  an  oppressor  in  a  distant  quarter  of  the 


OP  WYOMING.  51 

globe,  with  whom  you  can  have  no  common 
interest,  and  who,  for  you,  can  have  no  fellow 
feeling. 

"  Of  the  soil  on  which  ye  tread,  ye  are  now 
the  paramount  lords.  Before  the  date  of  this 
instrument  you  held  it  but  in  subjection  to  a 
stranger  whose  counsellors  have  latterly  as 
sumed  the  right  to  exact  from  you  the  fruits 
of  your  industry  without  your  consent.  Your 
resistance  to  this  injustice  was  called  treason. 
But  traitors  you  cannot  now  be,  for,  thanks  to 
this  document,  you  are  no  longer  su'-'-'N  to  the 
foe.  You  are  citizens,  free  and  independent  lords 
of  a  soil  that  owns  no  foreign  master. — You  are, 
it  is  true,  weak  in  comparison  to  your  foe.  So  is 
the  eagle  in  comparison  to  the  lion,  yet  it  has  a 
spirit  equally  daring,  and  in  the  independence 
of  its  nature,  acknowledges  subjection  to  no 
earthly  lord.  0 !  my  countrymen,  may  the  King 
of  kings,  who  is  now  your  only  sovereign, 
render  you  worthy  of  your  new-born  rights, 
and  enable  you  to  struggle  successfully  with 
the  terrible  storms  you  shall  have  to  encoun 
ter,  in  defending  them.  Shrink  not  in  the 
hour  of  peril,  ye  who  are  now  the  fathers  of  a 
nation!  The  morning  of  your  existence  is  tem 
pestuous  and  dark;  but  it  will  usher  in  a  day 
of  glorious  tranquillity,  when  the  fruits  of 
your  labours  shall  diffuse  joy  over  a  grateful 


52  THE  BETKOTHEI 

land,  and  the  blessings  of  millions  shall  crown, 
your  memories  with  immortality." 

This  address  made  a  deep  impression  on  its 
auditors — the  true  patriots  became  more  zealous, 
the  wavering  became  firm,  and  many  who  had 
hitherto  been  opposed  to  the  cause  of  liberty 
from  the  dread  of  committing  treason,  now 
conceiving  themselves  freed  from  their  allegi 
ance  to  royalty,  unhesitatingly  declared  their 
adhesion  to  the  patriotic  side.  Still,  how 
ever,  there  were  numbers  whose  attachment  to 
the  an^^.cmW  of  things,  rendered  them 
hostile  to  the  great  measure  now  adopted. 
Many  of  these  had  favoured  the  resistance  to 
British  usurpation,  but  had  never  desired  a  se 
paration  from  British  connexion  or  release 
from  British  authority.  The  hardened  and  re 
solved  tories  were  strengthened  by  the  acces 
sion  of  such ;  and  the  bold  and  irretraceable 
step  which  the  whigs  had  now  taken,  aroused 
their  animosity  to  an  implacable  degree,  and 
they  became  more  zealous  and  active  than  ever 
in  the  warfare  which  they  waged  against  the 
friends  of  liberty.  The  whole  heart  and  soul 
of  John  Butler  were  secretly  with  these.  Their 
leaders  knew  it,  and  placed  entire  confidence 
tn  him.  With  all  their  machinations  and  de 
signs  he  was  made  acquainted;  and  frequently, 
by  his  advice  and  management,  he  contributed  tc 


OP  WYOMING.  53 

the  success  of  their  enterprises.  He,  however, 
in  public  preserved  an  appearance  of  attachment 
to  the  popular  cause.  This  he  did  with  the 
double  view  of  serving  his  own  party  the  more 
effectually  by  treachery  to  the  other,  and  of 
availing  himself  of  any  favourable  occurrence 
that  might  take  place  to  aggrandize  himself  by 
means  of  the  whigs,  in  which,  had  he  succeed 
ed,  it  is  doubtful  whether  his  principles  might 
not  have  accommodated  themselves  to  his  in 
terest.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he,  for  some  months, 
conducted  himself  so  much  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  people  of  Wyoming,  that  their  most  vi 
gilant  patriots  found  no  cause  to  make  him  an 
object  of  either  disapprobation  or  suspicion. 


B  2 


54  THE  BETROTHED 

CHAPTER  V. 

Since  we  must  part,— before  this  holy  siini.- . 
And  in  the  presence  of  the  Power  Divine, 
Our  heart's  sincerity  our  lips  shall  prove, 
And  swear  unchanging  faithfulness  in  love. 
We'll  join  our  fate*  in  one  for  ever  now, 
Bound  and  betrothal  by  an  eternal  vow ! 

Uarley. 

The  promulgation  of  the  Declaration  of  In 
dependence,  although  a  bold,  was  an  extremely 
prudent  and  well-timed  measure.  Without  ite 
encouraging  tendencies,  the  numerous  disasters 
which  befell  the  American  arms  during  the 
subsequent  five  or  six  months,  must  have  occa 
sioned  the  most  resolute  friends  of  the  popular 
cause  to  give  it  up  in  despair.  After  the  loss 
of  the  great  battle  of  Long  Island,  a  series  of 
defeats  reduced  the  combatants  for  freedom  to 
the  mere  skeleton  of  an  ill-supplied  and"  much- 
suffering  army,  harassed  and  pursued  from 
place  to  place,  by  a  victorious,  numerous,  and 
well-appointed  foe. 

This  was  that  period  of  desponding  pros 
pects  which  is  emphatically  said  to  have  tried 
men's  souls.  The  most  sanguine  began  to 
despond,  and  in  thebosoms  of  the  timid,  hope 
was  extinguished.  The  noblest  cause  for  which 
a  people  ever  fought,  depended  entirely  on  the 


OF  WYOMING.  55 

firmness  and  management  of  one  man,  aided 
by  only  the  remnant  of  an  army  of  harassed, 
wearied  and  worn-out  fugitives,  so  ill-appointed 
that  they  had  not  clothing  sufficient  to  defend 
them  from  the  severity  of  an  inclement  winter. 
But  that  man  was  WASHINGTON,  and  those  fu 
gitives  were  THE  HEROES  OP  SEVENTY-SIX, 
who  soon  became  the  conquerors  of  Trenton 
and  Princeton,  and  snatched,  by  their  hardy 
valour,  the  cause  of  their  country — the  cause 
of  man — from  the  brink  of  ruin.  Even  after 
these  brilliant  achievements  had  shed  their 
cheering  influence  over  the  cause,  the  horizon 
became  again  darkened  by  the  disasters  of 
Brandy  wine  and  Germantown,  and  the  coun 
try's  necessities  called  aloud  to  her  sons  for 
sympathy  and  succour. 

By  none  was  the  call  more  keenly  felt  than 
by  Henry  Austin;  and  his  ardour  at  length  re 
ceived  the  sanction  of  his  father.  This  ardour 
was  participated  by  many  of  the  patriotic 
youth  of  the  settlement;  and  he  was  enabled 
to  collect  a  generous  band  of  about  fifty  volun 
teers,  who  enrolled  themselves  beneath  his 
command  for  the  purpose  of  joining  the  army 
under  Washington.  As  the  day  of  his  depar 
ture  drew  near,  his  patriotism  had  to  contend 
with  the  force  of  a  powerful  passion  which 
swayed  his  bosom  as  strongly  as  ever  it  swayed 


THE  BETROTHED 

the  bosom  of  man.  This  passion  was  love — 
love  for  Agnes  Norwood,  whose  image  had 
become,  from  the  first  moment  he  beheld  her, 
entwined  with  his  very  existence.  Day  and 
night  was  she  the  subject  of  his  meditations. — 
Her  charms  were  the  delicious  food  of  his 
imagination;  and  he  felt  as  if  he  could  live  no 
where,  with  satisfaction,  but  in  her  presence. 
And  she  had  long  since  acknowledged  a  mu 
tual  love.  Many  and  sweet  were  the  hours  of 
romantic  fervour  they  had  passed  together  since 
that  acknowledgment  took  place.  Their  at 
tachment  was  sanctioned  by  their  parents.  Hen 
ry  appeared  to  Mr.  Norwood  just  such  a  hus 
band  as  he  could  wish  for  his  daughter,  and 
Mr.  Austin  rejoiced  in  the  happy  fortune 
which  had  gained  for  his  son  the  affections  of  a 
female  so  fair  and  so  worthy  as  Agnes  Nor 
wood.  For  one  reason  in  particular,  he  re 
joiced  in  the  circumstance.  He  hoped  that  her 
charms  would  have  sufficient  influence  to  retain 
him  at  home,  and  check  his  patriotic  eagerness 
to  embark  in  the  dangers  of  war.  And,  in 
deed,  these  charms  had  been  sufficient  for  this 
purpose,  until  Henry  heard  of  the  depth  of  his 
cointry's  misfortunes,  and  the  encreasing 
gloom  which,  after  the  battle  of  German- 
town,  overshadowed  her  cause.  His  sense  of 
duty  then  came  in  aid  of  his  patriotism,  and 


OF  WYOMING.  57 

he  resolved  to  make  a  mighty  effort  to  break 
the  fascinations  of  love  and  the  enjoyments  of 
home,  in  order  to  serve  a  cause  in  the  success 
of  which  he  felt  so  strongly  interested.  Yet 
so  powerful  was  his  passion,  that  after  he  had 
procured  his  father's  consent  to  join  the  army, 
and  had  even  organized  his  band  of  followers. 
his  heart  almost  failed  him,  and  he  became  ir 
resolute  in  his  determination  to  leave,  even  but 
for  a  season,  the  dear  object  of  his  soul's  desire. 
.While  under  the  influence  of  this  feeling  he 
visited  her.  He  found  her  in  her  father's  par 
lour. 

"I  come,  my  Agnes,"  said  he,  "to  state 
that  your  fascinations  have  conquered.  Love 
has  prevailed. — Patriotism,  duty,  desire  of 
glory — all,  all  have  yielded  to  my  dread  of 
separating  from  thee.  I  have  decided  to  re 
main  with  thee.  I  feel  I  have  done  wrong: 
but,  0 !  for  charms  like  thine,  who  would  not 
relinquish  every  thing?  If  my  feelings  were 
known,  the  severest  would  forgive  my  error. " 

"Henry,"  said  she,  "what  do  I  hear! — 
Wilt  thou  refuse  thy  arm  to  thy  country  in  her 
distress? — But,  perhaps,  thou  art  right:  we 
may  be  happy  here,  although  liberty  should 
be  driven  from  the  land!" 

"What!  Agnes,"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  her 
tone,  rather  than  her  words,  had  caused  a  for- 


58  THE  BETROTHED 

gotten  feeling  to  startle  his  mind,  "what  say- 
est  thou?  Could  we  be  happy  as  slaves?" 

"Yes;  with  love  like  ours,  even  in  slavery 
we  might  be  happy!  But,  Henry,  self-abase 
ment,  such  a  mind  as  thine  could  not  endure." 

"Self-abasement!  Agnes?  What  abasement 
is  there  in  preferring  thy  love  to  all  things?  In 
preferring  thy  society  to  that  of  soldiers;  thy 
beauteous  presence  in  this  .valley,  to  the  cla 
mours  of  a  camp?" 

"It  is  preferring  the  indulgence  of  selfish 
wishes,  to  the  performance  of  duty.  Henry, 
canst  thou  not  see  how  that  would  produce 
self-abasement?" 

"True,  Agnes!  I  see  it." 

"  Couldst  thou  endure  the  torments  of  such 
a  degraded  feeling?" 

"No,  Agnes!  I  fear  not  easily.  But  thy 
smiles  would  be  my  recompense,  my  relief, 
my  unfailing  comfort." 

"But  could  I  smile  if  thou  wert  unhappy? 
Or  could  I  comfort  thee,  if  thou  hadst  lost  thy 
own  esteem?" 

"Ah!  I  feel  thy  words,  my  beloved!  Thou 
art  the  angel  of  my  protection. — My  own  es 
teem!- — I  shall  not  lose  it.  I  will  do  my  duty. 
Assist  me,  Agnes!  strengthen  me  with  thy 
counsel.  Enable  me  to  leave  thee  for  a  time, 


OF  WYOMING.  59 

that  I  may  fly  to  the  post  of  duty,  and  be  wor 
thy  of  thy  love." 

"When  thou  shalt  do  so,  Henry,  I  will  es 
teem  thee — nay,  if  possible,  I  will  love  thee 
more  than  now!" 

He  caught  her  hands  rapturously.  "  Thanks 
to  thee,  my  only  love!"  he  said,  "thou  hast 
saved  me  from  my  weakness.  Thou  shalt  es 
teem,  as  well  as  love  me.  My  country  needs 
me.  I  will  do  my  duty!" 

"'Although  ouf  separation,  Henry,  should 
break  my  heart,  I  would  not  be  the  means  of 
detaining  thee  from  thy  duty.  Thy  departure 
to  the  busy  world  where  thou  mayest  forget 
me,  or  to  scenes  of  danger  where  thou  mayest 
be  slain — 0!  Henry,  such  thoughts  distract 
me. — Yet — yet,  thou  must  go — thy  country 
calls,  and  what  is  my  happiness,  or  even  thine, 
that  we  should  indulge  it  at  her  expense?" 

"Agnes,  I  could  worship  thee  for  such  sen 
timents.  I  will  leave  thee  for  my  country's 
sake.  Heaven  will  protect  thee  in  my  absence 
in  recompense  of  thy  virtue. — And  I  too  shall 
win  favour  from  above  for  the  severe  sacrifice 
I  now  make  in  obedience  to  the  calls  of  duty. — 
But  forget  thee,  didst  thou  say?  No,  not  for  a 
moment,  Agnes,  shall  thy  image  be  absent 
from  my  recollection — thy  loveliness  from  my 


60  THE  BETROTHED 

heart.  But,  my  beloved,  can  \ve  not  unite  be 
fore  my  departure?  Methinks,  I  could  go 
with  less  sorrow  and  reluctance,  could  I  call 
thee  my  own?" 

"Henry,  dost  thou  allude  to  marriage? — 
We  are  both  young — too  young,  perhaps. — But 
let  our  fathers  decide. — Return  here  at  six  thij- 
evening.  1  will  reflect  on  the  subject.  I  will 
consult  my  father.  Do  thou  consult  thine." 

Henry's  father  did  not  approve  of  his  son's 
marriage  under  present  circumstances.  "  I 
confess,"  he  said,  "that Miss  Norwood  is  in 
all  respects  worthy  of  you.  Your  having 
placed  your  affections  on  her  affords  me  great 
satisfaction.  But  you  are  now  going  on  a  toil 
some  'and  dangerous  pursuit.  I  should  wish 
you  to  go  single  and  untrammelled  with  do 
mestic  cares,  so  that  your  new  profession  may 
receive  your  whole  devotion,  by  which  means 
you  will  be  more  likely  to  command  success. 
But  should  disaster  happen  to  you;  should  you 
be  wounded  or  slain,  (casualties  which,  I  trust, 
Heaven  will  avert,)  it  will  be  enough  that  I  and 
my  family  be  made  miserable.  Why  expose 
another  family  to  the  same  hazard  of  sorrow, 
by  needlessly  connecting  yourself  with  it  in 
marriage?  Should  you  marry,  you  do  not  pro 
pose  remaining  at  home  to  enjoy  your  wife's 
society.  You  would  make  her  your  wife  to 


»  OF  WYOMING.  61 

abandon  her  after  the  ceremony,  and  expose 
aer  to  the  risk  of  becoming  an  early  widow. 
Is  this  love,  or  is  it  selfishness?  But  you  say, 
you  wish  only  to  secure  her  fidelity?  Has  she 
not  owned  her  attachment,  and  promised  con 
stancy  in  return  for  your's?  And  do  you  doubt 
her  truth?  You  cannot.  It  would  be  a  feeling 
unworthy  of  the  lover  of  Miss  Norwood." 

Henry  was  struck  with  his  father's  observa 
tions.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  sweet  to  call 
Agnes  his  own.  But  it  would  be  unjust  to 
expose  her  as  his  wife  to  the  distress  of  any 
accident  that  might  befall  him  in  the  war. 
True,  she  loved  him,  and  were  he  unfortunate 
ly  to  fall,  even  though  unmarried  to  him,  she 
would  grieve  with  a  sincere  and  deep  sorrow. 
But  would  not  that  sorrow  sooner  end  in  the 
maid  than  in  the  wife?  At  all  events,  he- 
would  not  at  the  present,  urge  the  marriage, 
since  his  father  disapproved  of  it,  unless  Mr. 
Norwood's  opinion  should  be  more  favourable 
towards  it,  which  he  did  not  venture  to  expect. 

Henry  judged  rightly  of  Mr.  Norwood's 
opinion.  That  gentleman,  anxiously  alive  for 
his  daughter's  welfare,  thought  that  her  mar 
riage  with  so  young  a  man  on  the  eve  of  his 
departure  from  the  settlement,  and  on  a  hazard 
ous  pursuit,  would  be  extremely  imprudent. 

;'Let  a  few  years  roll  on,"  said  he  to  Ag- 
F 


62  THE  BETROTHED 

nes.  "  This  tempestuous  period  will  pass  by, 
and  happier  times  may  bless  the  land  with 
peace  and  freedom  and  prosperity.  Henry 
and  you,  my  daughter,  will  be  still  young 
enough  to  engage  in  the  cares  of  the  marriage 
state,  and  I  shall  then  be  happy  in  joining  your 
hands  and  giving  you  my  blessing." 

To  her  father's  opinion  Agnes  bowed  im 
plicitly.  In  all  that  concerned  herself,  his 
opinion  was  her  creed,  his  will  was  her  law. 
When  Henry  according  to  appointment  visited 
her  that  evening,  she  stated  to  him  the  objec 
tions  made  by  her  father  to  their  marriage 
under  present  circumstances.  He  saw  them  in 
their  full  force,  and  he  admitted  them,  and  for 
bore  to  press  his  suit  for  immediate  happiness; 
although,  when  he  beheld  her  loveliness  in  all 
its  blooming  graces  before  him,  he  internally 
deplored  the  untoward  circumstances  that  with 
held  him,  for  a  time,  from  the  possession  of 
such  charms. 

That  evening,  towards  twilight,  the  lovers 
walked  out  together  along  the  banks  of  the 
Sharon.  It  was  the  eve  of  Henry's  departure. 
His  company  of  volunteers  were  assembled  in 
the  village,  in  readiness  to  march  the  next 
morning.  Had  his  marriage,  therefore,  taken 
place,  short,  indeed,  must  have  been  his  stay 
with  his  bride.  This  consideration,  in  some 


OF  WYOMING.  63 

measure,  reconciled  him  to  the  disappoint 
ment 

"Oh  Agnes,"  said  he,  "I  was  certainly  too 
inconsiderate  in  the  wishes  I  expressed,  for  if 
thou  wert  made  my  own,  I  feel  that  I  could  not 
leave  thee,  and  my  duty  should  be  neglected." 

" Indeed,"  she  replied,   "I  am  persuaded 

that    tile  postponement  of   our   iiuptlo.10,    10  bulll 

prudent  and  proper.  If  Providence  shall  hear 
my  constant  prayers,  and  restore  thee  to  thy 
friends  in  more  propitious  times,  our  union 
will  then  have  the  sanction  of  our  parents,  and 
the  joy  of  that  hour  will  not  be  blighted  by  the 
grief  of  separation." 

They  had  now  reached  the  entrance  of  the 
village  church.  They  observed  the  door  partly 
open.  They  concluded-that  it  had  been  left  so 
by  the  negligence  of  some  person  employed  in 
making  repairs  inside.  They  entered  the  holy 
place.  All  was  still  and  silent  as  the  interior 
of  the  graves  that  surrounded  it.  Who  has 
ever  visited  a  temple  of  the  Divinity,  built  with 
hands,  when  devoid  of  worshippers,  without 
being  impressed  with  a  sensation  of  the  awful 
solemnity  that  pervades  the  sacred  edifice.  It 
is  a  feeling  as  if  we  were  in  the  immediate  pre 
sence  of  the  Supreme  of  all  things,  surrounded 
by  his  ministering  angels — for  we  imagine,  or, 


64  „          THE  BETROTHED 

at  least  have  sensations  akin  to  the  imagination, 
that  such  a  place  can  never  be  unoccupied;  and 
since  human  worshippers  are  absent,  their 
place  must  be  filled  and  their  functions  per 
formed,  by  invisible  intelligences  of  a  higher 
and  more  holy  order. 

The  lovers  felt,  that  if  they  were  not  sur- 

juurn-l-eti    l>y   eitcK    int-elligc-ncco,    tVlOV  WCTC  altO- 

gether  without  witnesses  of  their  fervent  ex 
pressions  of  mutual  fondness  and  never-ending 
constancy. 

"  Oh!  my  beloved,"  said  Henry,  "  it  is  not 
any  fickleness  of  thy  mind  I  dread;  for  I  be 
lieve  that,  thou  art  all  truth  and  sincerity.  But 
events  may  occur  in  my  absence  severely  .to 
try  thy  faith.  Forgive  me,  therefore,  if  I  wish 
;t  secured  by  some  solemn  vow.  Become  my  be 
trothed — plight  thyself  to  me  within  this  solemn 
shrine  of  God,  and  before  that  holy  place  from 
whence  thy  father's  lips  have  so  often  pour 
ed  forth  pious  instruction,  and  promulgated 
the  obligations  of  our  holy  faith.  In  the  name 
of  love,  and  for  the  sake  of  my  peace  of  mind 
when  I  shall  be  afar,  off,  let  me  entreat  thee,  to 
kneel  with  me  in  this  sacred  temple,  where  it 
may  be  long  before  we  again  meet,  and,  in  the 
awful  presence  of  HIM  to  whom  the  place  is 
consecrated,  let  us  pledge  to  each  other  un 
wavering  faith,  and  eternal  love — let  us  swear 


OP  WYOMING.  65 

that  in  wedlock  neither  of  us  shall  ever  pledge 
our  vows  to  any  other." 

They  knelt,  they  caught  each  other's  right 
hands,  and  before  God  and  his  angels,  they 
swore  the  oath  of  betrothment,  and  sealed  it 
with  a  fervent  kiss.  That  moment  a  voice 
suddenly  but  sweetly  said,  "  Heaven  has  re 
gistered  that  vow.  Oh!  ye  BETROTHED!  let  it 
never  be  broken!" 

The  lovers  started  to  their  feet  in  confusion; 
but  conscious  of  no  sin,  they  felt  no  alarm. 
They  looked  round,  and  beheld  standing  be 
hind  them  the  "  Hermit  of  the  Woods." 

"Pardon  my  intrusion,"  said  he,  "it  was 
not  intentional.  The  door  was  open.  'I  en 
tered.  I  approached  too  near  before  I  per 
ceived  you,  to  withdraw  without  disturbing 
you.  I,  therefore,  remained  silent  till  your 
vows  were  passed,  when  I  thought  it  better  to 
•  discover  myself  than  run  the  hazard  of  being 
discovered  by  you.  I  have  long  known  your 
loves. — I  have  now  witnessed  your  betroth 
ment — but  fear  nothing.  I  am  your  friend. 
and  your  secret  is  safe." 

"  Good  Rodolph,"  said  Henry,  "we  know 
you  are  our  friend — we  have  effectually  expe 
rienced  your  friendship.  What  you  have  seen 
and  heard,  you  were  sent  by  Heaven  to  wit 
ness.  We,  therefore,  murmur  not  at  your 
F  2 


66  THE  BETROTHED 

presence.     But  in  this  holy  place  and  sanctified 
moment,  we  crave  thy  blessing." 

"  May  the  great  Being  who  rules  above,  and 
who  is  worshipped  here,  bless  you,  my  chil 
dren.  May  he  watch  over  you  when  far 
asunder,  and  in  other  days  bring  you  together, 
that  you  may  redeem  the  vows  you  have  pledged 
this  evening,  and  under  happy  auspices,  fulfil 
your  Betrothment!"  He  said  and  departed. 


• 

I 

OF  WYOMING.  67 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Heaven  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid. 

Some  banished  lover,  or  some  captive  maid  ; 

They  live,  they  speak,  they  breathe  what  love  inspire*. 

Warm  from  the  soul,  and  faithful  to  its  fires. 

The  virgin's  wish  without  her  fears  impart, 

Excuse  the  blush  and  pour  forth  all  the  heart, 

Speed  the  soft  intercourse  from  soul  to  soul, 

And  waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  Pole.     . 

Pope. 

Whoever  has  witnessed  the  departure  from 
a  small  village,  upon  a  distant  enterprise  of 
importance  and  danger,  of  a  band  of  soldiers 
endeared  to  the  inhabitants  by  long  residence 
and  ties  of  affinity,  must  have  been  moved  by 
the  many  spontaneous  effusions  of  sincere  af 
fection;  the  tears,  the  embraces,  the  tender  ex 
hortations,  the  blessings,  and  the  heart- warm 
prayers  for  the  protection  of  Heaven,  which 
are  fervently  reciprocated  by  friends,  relatives 
and  lovers,  now  parting,  many  of  them  to  meet 
no  more.  This  is  the  revealing  hour  of  attach 
ment.  Emotions  of  love  which  were  hitherto  con 
cealed,  now  break  forth,  and  show  themselves 
freely,  though,  perhaps  timidly,  before  the  face 
of  day.  A  degree  of  license  is  permitted  to  the 
public  outpourings  of  the  heart  on  such  occa 
sions,  which  on  others  would  be  considered  un 
seemly  or  indecorous.  It  is  not  the  parting  em- 

1 


THE  BETROTHED 

braces  and  sorrows  of  parents  and  children,  or 
sisters  and  brothers, that  are  now  alone  tolerated 
by  the  sympathizing  feelings  of  the  public;  the 
bursting  forth  of  the  grief  of  young  and  bash 
ful  lovers  is  viewed  as  neither  misplaced  nor 
unbecoming.  The  hearts  of  all  are  softened, 
and  enter  fully  into  the  pathetic  spirit  of  the 
scene;  and  partake  so  much  of  its  tenderness 
as.  to  comprehend  and  value  the  kindly  influ 
ence  from  which  it  flows. 

Such  a  scene,  in  all  its  variety  of  feelings, 
and  intensity  of  emotions,  was,  much  to  his 
chagrin,  witnessed  by  John  Butler,  the  royalist, 
on  the  day  that  Henry  Austin  and  his  brave 
band  of  patriotic  volunteers^  departed  from 
Wyoming  to  join  the  encampment  at  Valley 
Forge.  Yet  Butler  rejoiced  at  the  departure 
of  these  men.  It  removed  to  a  distance  many 
of  his  enemies,  and  diminished  the  strength  of 
the  whig  interest  in  the  settlement.  He  was 
only  chagrined  to  see  how  much  they  were 
beloved;  and  if  a  wish  of  his  could  have  anni 
hilated  these  patriotic  soldiers  and  those  who 
lavished  on  them  their  parting  caresses,  that 
wish  would  have  gone  forth  with  the  joyous 
energy  of  malignant  triumph.  He  still  wore 
the  cloak  of  patriotism;  but  the  time  had  come 
when  he  gave  up  the  intention  of  wearing  it 
much  longer.  He  had  tried  popularity  for  many 


OF  WYOMING.  CD 

months,  but  it  had  gained  him  no  confidence; 
it  had  procured  him  no  public  trust,  no  official 
emolument.  He  now  saw  reasons  for  permit 
ting  the  current  of  his  affections  to  revert  into 
their  former  channel.  It  reverted,  however, 
secretly.  It  did  not  yet  suit  his  views  to 
change  his  outward  professions  or  his  observa 
ble  conduct.  Hypocrisy  was,  for  some  time 
yet,  his  surest  game,  and  he  played  it  admira 
bly.  The  leaders  of  the  people  were  deceived. 
It  was,  therefore,  easy  to  dupe  the  people 
themselves.  But  he  deceived  them  no  longer 
for  office.  That  object  he  saw  was  hopeless. 
He  deceived  them  for  his  own  safety  and  their 
ruin. 

At  this  period,  many  families  fled  from  the 
populous  districts  that  were  the  seats  of  the 
war,  to  seek  repose  and  safety  in  more  remote 
settlements.  The  settlement  of  Wyoming  of 
fered  abundant  attractions  to  these.  Accord 
ingly,  both  whigs  and  tories  flocked  there  in 
considerable  numbers.  But  of  these  new 
comers,  the  tories  were  by  far  the  most  nu 
merous.  Their  continuance  in  the  war-haunt 
ed  districts  where  their  opponents  had  obtained 
all  authority,  was  neither  pleasant  nor  safe.  It 
is  true,  the  authorities,  as  well  as  the  majority 
of  the  people  of  Wyoming,  opposed  them  in 
politics,  and  disliked  their  turbulence,  But  they 


70  THE  BETROTHED 

were  a  people  generous  and  hospitable,  and 
many  of  them  connected  with  the  fugitives,  or 
as  they  were  more  courteously  termed,  the  re 
fugees,  by  the  ties  of  relationship.  The  latter, 
therefore,  by  the  most  solemn  pledges  of  peace 
able  intentions,  gained  the  good  will,  and  se 
cured  the  protection  of  the  deceived  and  kind- 
hearted  inhabitants  of  the  district,  who  believ 
ed  that  they  had  admitted  among  them  men 
who  sincerely  regretted  their  past  errors,  and 
were  resolved  by  their  future  conduct,  to  atone 
for  them.  A  few  were  sincere,  and  remained 
faithful  to  their  pledge;  but  fear  alone  induced 
the  majority  to  feign  a  repentance  which  they 
did  not  feel.  Their  feelings  and  opinions  were 
not  changed.  But  the  deceived  people  could 
not  see  the  heart.  They  believed  the  profes 
sions  which  they  heard,  and  gave  credit  for 
the  decorum  they  beheld.  That  which  was 
produced  by  expediency,  they  mistook  for 
the  result  of  conviction.  The  traitors  were 
forgiven,  received  as  friends,  and  treated  with 
affection  by  the  virtuous  and  unsuspecting  peo 
ple  of  Wyoming,  whom  they  waited  only  for 
a  fitting  opportunity  to  destroy. 

Many  even  of  the  latter  character  would,  no 
doubt,  have  remained  tranquil,  and  perhaps 
gradually  abandoned  their  unpatriotic  and  dan 
gerous  sentiments,  but  for  the  machinations  of 


OF  WYOMING.  71 

Butler,  who,  .like  the  evil  genius  of  the  place, 
would  permit  neither  tranquillity,  confidence, 
nor  amity  to  remain  long  therein.  War  and 
destruction  were  the  elements  in  which  he  de 
lighted  to  move.  To  enjoy  the  revelry  of 
bloodshed,  he  scrupled  not  to  sacrifice  both  the 
obligations  of  kindred  and  the  ties  of  gratitude. 
He  had  in  his  advances  to  popularity,  among 
the  whigs,  met  with  repulses  sufficient  to  con 
vince  him  of  the  fruitlessness  of  pursuing  ag 
grandizement  in  that  direction.  The  encreas- 
ing  numbers  of  the  refugee  tories  that  now 
sought  safety  in  the  settlement,  and  looked  up 
to  him  as  their  head,  induced  him  secretly  to 
abandon  all  desire  of  connexion  with  the 
whigs,  and  to  throw  himself  entirely  into  the 
arms  of  the  party  to  which,  from  feeling  and 
habit,  he  had  long  been  attached. 

Since  the  departure  of  Henry  Austin,  he  had 
made  several  overtures  to  Miss  Norwood.  She 
had  been  long  acquainted  with  his  passion  for 
her.  Master  of  duplicity  as  he  was,  he  had 
not  even  been  able  entirely  to  prevent  Henry 
from  suspecting  it.  But  Henry  had  never 
breathed  his  suspicion  to  Agnes,  nor  she  hers 
to  him.  He  felt  too  confident  of  the  firmness 
with  which  he  was  rooted  in  her  affection,  to 
fear  being  supplanted  by  Butler  or  any  other 
rival;  and  he  had  the  delicacy  not  to  hurt  her 


72  THE  BETROTHED 

ieelings  by  alluding  to  the  possibility  of  such 
an  occurrence.  Butler's  engagement  with  his 
sister  he  had  long  wished  to  see  dissolved;  for 
he  now  knew  enough  of  the  man  to  be  assured 
that  he  was  not  calculated  to  make  her  happy. 
His  surmise  that  his  affections  were  transferred 
to  Agnes,  led  him  to  hope  that  the  intended 
union  of  such  a  man  with  so  near  and  dear  a 
relative  as  his  sister,  never  would  take  place. 
Yet  he  grieved  for  the  affliction  which  the  dis 
appointment  would  bring  upon  Isabella.  She 
had  unfortunately  fixed  her  affections  upon  an 
unworthy  object,  and  was,  therefore,  doomed 
to  the  misery  of  a  sorrowing  heart,  whether 
she  became  united  to  him  or  not.  In  the  one 
case,  however,  the  sorrow  might  be  transitory 
— the  hand  of  time  and  the  force  of  reflection 
would  at  least  weaken,  if  they  did  not  entirely 
obliterate  its  impression. — In  the  other,  there- 
could  be  no  hope  of  this.  An  indissoluble 
bond  would  unite  her  destiny  to  that  of  a 
villain,  and  permanent  wretchedness  could  not 
but  ensue.  On  his  sister's  account,  therefore, 
the  change  in  the  affections  of  Butler  afforded 
Henry  satisfaction  sufficient  to  atone  for  any 
uneasiness  he  might  feel  on  account  of  Agnes 
being  the  object  of  the  new  flame  of  the  de 
ceitful  royalist.  In  the  fidelity  of  Agnes  to 
himself  he  had  full  confidence.  The  rivalship 


OF  WYOMING.  73 

of  Butler  he  therefore  treated  with  contempt; 
and  he  left  Wyoming  without  giving  him  to 
understand,  by  any  indication  whatever,  that  he 
suspected  its  existence.  When  at  a  distance, 
however,  from  the  object  of  his  love,  he  soon, 
began  to  have  unpleasant  feelings  on  the  sub 
ject.  He  recollected  that  in  his  absence,  But 
ler  might  have  the  boldness  to  make  an  express 
declaration  of  his  passion;  and  although  it  was 
impossible  that  Agnes  could  be  induced  to  en 
courage  his  pretensions,  she  might  be  subjected 
to  his  importunities,  and  even — but  it  was  an 
idea  he  wished  not  to  entertain — in  the  event 
of  disturbance  in  the  settlement,  to  his  vio 
lence.  In  his  correspondence  with  her — for 
he  found  frequent  opportunities  of  forwarding 
letters  to  his  friends — he  never  alluded  to  his 
fear  on  this  subject,  lest  he  might  give  her  un 
necessary  uneasiness.  But  to  Dr.  Watson  he 
poured  them  forth  without  reserve. 

"  There  is  one  great  cause  of  uneasiness  un 
der  which  I  suffer,"  said  he,  in  a  letter  to  the 
Doctor,  written  in  the  spring  of  1778,  "  that  I 
have  as  yet  communicated  to  no  one.  For 
some  months  before  I  left  Wyoming,  I  was 
haunted  with  a  suspicion  that  Butler  loved 
Agnes.  It  is  needless  to  detail  the  circum 
stances  that  gave  birth  to  that  suspicion.  I 
shall  only  say  that  they  were  numerous  and. 
a 


74  THE  BETROTHED 

forcible.  You  are  aware  of  his  engagements 
with  my  sister.  Because  I  had  a  bad  opinion 
of  the  man,  any  thing  that  inspired  a  hope  that 
those  engagements  would  not  be  fulfilled,  af 
forded  .me  pleasure.  His  passion  for  Agnes 
did  not  much  alarm  me,  while  I  was  in  her 
vicinity.  I  knew  that  she  would  be  faithful 
to  me,  and  I  feared  not  his  rivalship.  Neither 
did  I  then  fear  that  she  would  be  subjected  to 
any  inconveniences  from  his  importunities,  or 
danger  from  his  violence.  The  one  she  would 
repel,  and  the  other  he  dared  not  attempt. 
The  circumstances  of  the  parties  and  the  af 
fairs  of  the  settlement  sanctioned  this  conclu 
sion.  She  was  under  the  protection  of  her 
father,  of  her  lover,  of  her  friends,  of  the 
whole  population  of  the  village,  by  whom  she 
was  beloved — while  he — a  refugee  without 
power,  without  influence,  without  character, 
could  not  without  ruin  to  himself,  attempt  any 
thing  against  her  peace. 

"  But,  my  friend,  I  am  now  separated  from 
her  by  an  extensive  and  almost  pathless  wil 
derness.  I  know  not  what  may  be  the  pos 
ture  of  public  affairs  at  Wyoming.  The  sa 
vages  are  your  neighbours,  and  they  are  far 
from  being  friendly  to  our  cause;  and  tories 
are  numerous  even  in  the  midst  of  your  popu 
lation. — I  cannot  forget  that  Butler  was  a  tory ; 


OF  WYOMING.  75 

nay,  I  have  good  grounds  for  believing  he  is 
still  one  in  his  heart.  Should  any  interruption 
of  your  tranquillity  take  place,  I  tremble  to 
think  of  what  may  be  his  conduct.  He  hates 
my  sister.  Might  he  not  avail  himself  of  some 
Indian  irruption  to  destroy  her — to  destroy 
perhaps  my  aged  parent? — And  then  his  pas 
sion  for  Agnes — might  he  not  employ  the 
marauders  to  bear  her  off  to  some  distant  con 
cealment,  where  she  would  be  completely  in 
his  power? 

"  It  is  the  possibility  of  evils  like  these  that 
cause  my  uneasiness.  Will  you  say  that  my 
apprehensions  are  fanciful?  Heaven  grant  that 
they  may  be  so!  But  incidents  have  come 'to 
my  knowledge,  that  impart  to  them  a  greater 
strength  than  they  could  ever  derive  from 
mere  fancy.  Has  Butler  been  absent  of  late, 
for  any  length  of  time,  from  your  village?  If 
he  has,  there  is  treachery  on  foot;  and  my  fears 
are  not  without  foundation.  Let  all  his  move 
ments  be  watched  with  the  closest  vigilance, 
and  you  may  possibly  detect  and  frustrate  his 
designs.  Hear  the  reasons  for  my  alarm,  and 
the  cautions  I  give  you.  I  suspect  he  has  been, 
within  these  few  weeks,  in  Philadelphia,  ar 
ranging  with  General  Howe  the  plan  of  some 
military  movement,  doubtless  on  the  frontiers. 
One  of  my  corps,  who  is  now  a  prisoner  in  the 


76  THE  BETROTHED 

city,  has  found  means  to  inform  me,  that  he  is 
persuaded  he  saw  this  restless  and  deceitful 
man,  in  a  disguised  habit,  at  General  Howe's 
quarters.  What  should  he  be  doing  there,  if 
he  is,  as  he  professes,  our  friend?  And  why 
disguised,  unless  engaged  in  some  treacherous 
design,  which  he  fears  may  be  discovered  by 
some  of  our  friends  in  the  city.  But  he  may, 
I  admit,  be  wrongfully  accused.  My  inform 
ant  may  have  been  mistaken  in  his  identity. 
You  will,  on  the  spot,  be  best  able  to  judge.  I 
would  not  have  him  accused  if  he  is  innocent. 
It  would  be  impolitic,  as  well  as  unjust.  It 
would  excite  his  revenge  and  arm  his  adherents 
against  us.  He  is  now,  perhaps,  at  least  neu 
tral;  and  it  is  better  to  keep  him  so  than  arouse 
against  our  cause  one  so  capable  of  doing  mis 
chief. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  it  would  be  proper 
to  acquaint  Agnes  with  my  fears.  It  would 
alarm  her,  perhaps  needlessly.  Your  discre 
tion  will  decide  this  point.  Alas!  my  friend, 
if  I  were  to  describe  the  full  extent  of  my 
gloomy  forebodings,  you  would  imagine  that  I 
had  lost  all  moral  courage,  and  become  totally 
unfit  for  the  duties  of  a  soldier.  Yet  it  is  not 
so.  The  contrariety  of  my  feelings  is,  indeed, 
strange,  but  not  unaccountable.  I  feel  that  I 
am  not  a  coward,  and  yet  I  am  a  prey  to  in- 


OF  WYOMING.  77 

tense  fears  of  a  certain  description.  I  could 
with  alacrity  go  out,  at  any  moment,  to  meet 
the  enemy  in  battle  array.  It  is  not  for  my 
self  I  fear.  It  is  for  one  dearer  than  myself. 
Oh,  if  you  have  ever  felt  the  power  of  an  ab 
sorbing  love  like  mine,  you  will  be  able  to  un 
derstand  my  feelings;  to  account  for  my  in 
consistency — perhaps  you  will  call  it  my  weak 
ness.  Yet  be  assured  that  this  passion,  potent 
as  it  is,  is  still  kept  in  subserviency  to  my  duty. 
My  duty  requires  me  to  be  here  to  act 
against  the  enemies  of  my  country;  but  my 
affections  are  in  Wyoming,  wound  round  the 
form  of  the  loveliest  and  sweetest  of  earthly 
beings. — But  I  become  rhapsodical,  forgetting 
that  you  may  not  be  lover  enough  to  relish  my 
flights  of  romantic  passion.  I  will  conclude 
by  imploring  you  to  watch  over  the  s$fety  of 
my  BETROTHED,  and  to  be  alive  to  th&kinfor- 
mation  I  have  given  you  in  relation  to  Butler." 

The  following  letter  Henry  forwarded  at  the 
same  time  with  the  foregoing,  to  Agnes: 

"My  dearest  love — You  can  scarcely  imagine 
the  gratification  which  an  opportunity  of  wri 
ting  to  you  affords  me.  The  most  rapturous 
moments  of  my  existence  have  been  spent  in 
pouring  forth  in  your  presence,  the  language 
of  love  that  told  the  emotions  of  my  heart; 
and  in  listening  to  the  sweet  tone  of  approval 
G  2 


78  THE  BETROTHED 

with  which  you  answered  me.  We  are  new 
far  asunder — more  than  a  hundred  miles  of  an 
almost  impenetrable  forest  separate  us.  Yet 
do  I  pant  as  strongly  as  ever  for  that  sweet 
communion  of  souls,  that  interchange  of  de 
voted  affections  once  so  ardently  expressed  by 
every  look  and  every  tone  which  then  render 
ed  us  so  happy.  Yes,  in  such  moments  my 
bliss  was  great,  and  but  for  the  sake  of  my  suf 
fering  country,  I  never  should  have  withdrawn 
from  the  endeared  scenes  where  I  enjoyed  it. 
Reflecting  upon  them,  and  meditating  on 
your  perfections,  are  substitutes  for  those  happy 
moments  which  I  often  enjoy.  But  writing  to 
you  is  still  a  more  rapturous  employment.  An 
opportunity  for  it  occurs  more  rarely  than  for 
meditation,  and  it  approaches  in  its  nature 
more  nearly  to  conversation.  It  imparts  the 
pleasing  feeling  that  the  sentiments  I  commit  to 
the  paper  shall  be  conveyed  to  you;  that  you 
will  ponder  on  them;  that  they  will  be  cherish 
ed  by  you,  and  that  you  will  derive  from  them 
a  gratification  similar  to  what  I  experienced  in 
writing  them.  Such  are  the  enjoyments  of-letter- 
writing  to  separated  lovers.  Oh !  my  Betroth 
ed!  for  my  sake  indulge  in  it  frequently,  that  I 
may  frequently  behold  the  words  which  your 
own  hand  wrote,  the  sentiments  which  your 
own  heart  conceived,  and  the  assurances  which 


OF  WYOMING.  79 

shall  speak  the  unwavering  fidelity  of  thy  af 
fection.  Do  not  mistake  me.  I  doubt  not  thy 
affection,  my  Agnes.  I  would  as  soon  doubt 
the  existence  of  the  sun  on  which  I  daily  ga/e. 
Yet  I  would  beg  from  you  frequent  assurances 
of  thy  love,  because  of  the  delight  they  afford 
me.  Oh!  with  what  luxury  could  I  dwell  on 
the  dear  lines  that  should  contain  those  assu 
rances.  Save  hearing  thy  lips  pronounce  them, 
earth  could  afford  no  enjoyment  so  sweet. 

"Let  then  thy  letters  convey  to  me  that  which 
thou  knowest  will  be  my  best  solace  for  thy 
absence — the  assurance  of  thy  welfare,  and  the 
whole  fervour  of  thy  love.  Without  reserve 
— Oh!  Agnes!  without  reserve,  surely,  thou 
wilt  express  all  the  ardour  of  thy  affection,  all 
the  devotedness  of  thy  heart — all  thy  fondness, 
and  all  thy  wishes  for  me.  I  am,  my  love, 
covetous  of  every  thought  that  passes  through 
thy  mind.  I  would  not  have  the  slightest 
emotion  of  thy  soul  unknown  to  me;  nor 
would  I  conceal  from  thee  the  least  sensation 
of  mine.  Would  to  Heaven  that  separated 
lovers  had  some  more  perfect  and  expeditious 
means  of  interchanging  sentiments  and  feelings, 
than  by  letters.  Then  should  we,even  at  this  dis 
tance,  be  made  happy  by  the  intermingling  of 
thoughts  and  sensations.  I  should  then  less  regret 
the  necessity  which  keeps  us  asunder;  and  endure 


SO  THE  BETROTHED 

wiiii  more  patience,  the  absence  from  thee  to 
which  I  am  doomed. 

•"  Yes,  Agnes,  attached  as  I  am  to  the  right 
eous  cause  in  which  I  am  embarked,  I  acknow 
ledge  I  suffer  much  from  my  impatient  desires 
again  to  be  with  thee — to  hearken  to  the  tones 
of  thy  sweet  voice — to  gaze  upon  thy  beauty — 
thy  unrivalled  beauty!  Agnes,  at  this  mo 
ment,  thy  picture  is  placed  before  me — thy 
bright  eyes  so  full  of  fondness — thy  sweet 
lips  surrounded  with  smiles — the  innumerable, 
nameless,  and  matchless  charms  of  thy  Avholc 
countenance!  'Ah!'  I  may  well  exclaim, 
<  among  the  daughters  of  men  who  is  like  unto 
thee,  my  beloved!'  No  wonder  my  fancy  is 
inflamed,  andmy  heart  enraptured,  when  I  me 
ditate  on  thee.  And  art  thou  to  be  my  own ! 
Hast  thou  sworn  it,  my  betrothed?  Shall  I 
yet  be  the  master  of  such  boundless  happiness 
— such  intoxicating  charms?  My  soul  is  kin 
dled  with  the  idea.  My  imagination  flies  to 
the  haunts  of  Wyoming.  I  embrace  thee — I 
am  happy — thou  art  my  all — the  world,  and  all 
its  interests,  ties  and  connexions  are  forgotten. 
What  are  they  to  me  when  thou  art  mine! 
This  is  the  potency  of  love  which  I  delight  to 
obey!  Oh!  Agnes!  that  such  a  reverie  might 
last  for  ever! — that  no  wordly  interruption 
should  remind  me  that  my  joys  are  but  visionary 


OF  WYOMING.  81 

— that  no  trumpet's  sound,  nor  sentinel's  gun, 
should  disperse  the  dear  illusion,  and  tell  me 
that  I  am  in  the  midst  of  a  camp,  enchained 
there  by  a  soldier's  and  a  patriot's  duty,  whilst 
thou  art  far  distant  amidst  sylvan  wilds  on  the 
frontiers  of  civilization! 

"  But  I  will  have  fortitude — I  will  endure 
our  separation  on  account  of  my  country,  until 
she  shall  no  longer  need  my  service.  Thou 
wilt  love  me  the  more  for  the  sacrifice.  Oh! 
write  to  me  that  thou  wilt.  It  will  strengthen 
my  resolution;  and  from  the  exhortations  of 
love  I  shall  draw  inducements  to  patriotism, 
and  acquire  a  spirit  of  perseverance  in  duty, 
which  will  in  the  end  afford  me  matter  of  self- 
satisfaction  and  joy." 


THE  BETROTHED 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  know  that  there  are  angry  spirits 
And  turbulent  mutterers  of  stifled  treason, 
Who  lurk  in  narrow  places,  and  walk  out 
Muffled  to  whisper  curses  to  the  night ; 
Disbanded  soldiers,  discontended  ruffians, 
And  desperate  libertines  who  brawl  in  taverns. 

Byron, 

Several  weeks  after  writing  the  Foregoing  let 
ters,  Henry  received  the  following  from  Dr. 
Watson.  — 

"  Your  information  concerning  Butler  was 
well-timed.  It  aroused  our  vigilance  and  led 
to  the  detection  of  his  villany.  A  deep  and 
nefarious  conspiracy  was  formed  against  our 
settlement,  in  which  hundreds  of  our  tory 
neighbours  were  implicated.  Many  of  them, 
among  whom  is  Butler,  have  fled,  and  some 
are  in  prison.  The  latter,  it  is  believed,  for 
better  security,  will  be  sent  to  Reading.  The 
bearer  of  this,  carries  despatches  from  our 
council  to  your  General,  detailing  our  present 
perilous  condition,  and  requesting  succour, 
which,  I  trust,  we  shall  receive  in  time  for 
our  protection. 

"On  receiving  your  letter,  my  first  impulse 
was  to  lay  it  before  our  council.  But  as 
you  had  expressed  yourself  doubtfully  in  rela- 


OF  WYOMING.  83 

tion  to  the  guilt  of  Butler,  and  seemed  desirous 
that  I  should  watch  rather  than  accuse  him,  I 
resolved  to  do  so,  for  I  felt  unwilling  to  involve 
into  a  trouble  a  man  who  might  eventually  be 
innocent.  There  is  an  individual  in  our  settle 
ment  in  whom  I  have  long  placed  a  greater  de 
gree  of  confidence  than  is  known  to  any  one  be 
sides  ourselves.  I  have  entrusted  him  with  se 
crets  which  I  never  entrusted  to  another,  and 
have,  in  consequence,  derived  from  him  consola 
tion  none  else  could  afford.  This  man  is  of  wan 
dering  habits;  but  wise,  intelligent  and  venera 
ble.  He  is  respected  by  all  the  people  through 
out  the  settlements.  Even  the  Indians,  whom 
he  often  visits,  and  with  whose  language  he  is 
familiar,  esteem  him  much,  and  on  affairs  of 
intricacy  consult  him  often.  You  will  by 
this  time  have  perceived  that  I  mean  Rodolph, 
the  Hermit  of  the  Woods. 

"  Rodolph  had  himself  observed  some  move 
ments  among  the  tories,  and  especially  among 
the  New  England  refugees,  over  whom  Butler 
possesses  great  influence.  Many  of  them  had 
lately  visited  the  Mohawk  Indians,  a  tribe 
with  which  Rodolph  is  well  acquainted.  They, 
in  consequence,  as  he  supposes,  have  held  pub 
lic  councils,  and  seem  to  be  preparing  for  some 
enterprise.  But  the  circumstance  most  con 
vincing  of  Butler  being  connected  with  these 


84  THE  BETROTHED 

movements,  is  his  having  been  absent  for  near 
ly  four  weeks,  about  the  time  when  you  state 
that  he  was  suspected  to  be  in  Philadelphia. 
We  concluded,  therefore,  that  your  friend  was 
under  no  mistake  respecting  him;  and  we  look 
ed  upon  him  not  only  as  connected  with  the 
treason  which  you  suspected,  but  as  the  arch- 
traitor  and  chief  contriver  of  the  whole. 

"  Still  we  kept  our  suspicions  from  the  public 
ear.  No  one  had  as  yet  done  any  thing  to 
warrant  his  arrest;  and  by  remaining  in  a  state 
of  apparent  security  and  indifference,  we  might 
tempt  the  conspirators  into  some  indiscretion 
which  would  enable  us  to  discover  and  baffle 
their  designs. 

"  Rodolph's  political  sentiments  are  not  very 
generally  known.  Until  the  agitations  of  the 
times  began  to  embroil  the  affairs  of  this  dis- 
strict,  he,  perhaps,  felt  but  little  interest  in 
them;  and,  although  he  wandered  much  among 
the  valleys,  he  was  never  very  communicative 
with  the  inhabitants.  His  manners  are  re 
served,  mild,  and  meditative,  and  obnoxious  to 
no  party.  The  whiggish  inclination  of  his 
opinions,  therefore,  is  known  to  only  a  few 
of  his  select  friends.  The  tories  know  no 
thing  of  them.  On  perusing  your  letter,  he 
availed  himself  of  this  circumstance  to  deceive 
them  for  the  public  good.  He  resolves  to  act 


OF  WYOMING.  85 

the  dangerous  part  of  a  spy  on  their  conduct, 
for  which  purpose  he  feigned  an  approbation 
of  their  sentiments,  and  a  preference  for  their 
cause. 

"By  this  means  he  became  acquainted  with 
the  intrigues  that  were  now  actively  going  for 
ward  among  the  refugees,  and  soon  discovered 
that  the  principal  mover  was  Butler.  I  nou- 
determined  to  put  our  rulers  on  their  guard. 
I  had  no  longer  any  cause  for  hesitation.  He 
whom  I  should  accuse,  I  could  prove  to  be 
guilty.  Still  there  was  an  obstacle  in  the  way. 
The  near  kinsman  of  the  traitor,  you  know,  is 
at  the  head  of  our  local  government.  He  is 
a  worthy  man,  and  one  in  whom  the  whigs 
justly  repose  confidence.  He  had  been  hos 
pitable  and  kind  to  his  deceitful  relative,  and 
had  taken  him  under  his  protection,  in  the  con 
viction  of  his  conversion  to  the  cause  of  the 
country  being  sincere.  To  inform  such  a  man 
that  his  cousin  and  protogee  was  a  traitor, 
would,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  be  to  inflict  a 
pang  of  no  ordinary  kind  upon  his  feelings. — 
And  would  not  the  governor's  friendship  for 
the  accused  naturally  cause  him  to  hesitate  giv 
ing  credence  to  the  accusation?  I  feared  not 
the  latter.  I  had  confidence  in  the  governor's 
patriotism  and  integrity,  and  I  had  proofs  suf 
ficient  to  produce  conviction  on  his  mind.  As 

H 


86  THE  BETROTHED 

for  giving  him  pain,  that  was  too  trifling  a  con 
sideration  not  to  fade  away  before  the  impor 
tance  of  the  revelations  I  was  to  make.  I 
therefore  hastened  to  him.  I  made  the  revela 
tions.  He  was  astonished^  for  the  professions 
of  his  kinsman  had  completely  deceived  him. 
He  was  grieved;  for  he  had  cherished  an  affec 
tion  for  the  traitor,  and  was  also  on  terms  of 
intimacy  with  many  others  involved  in  the 
treason. 

"Rodolph  had  discovered  that  an  assemblage 
of  the  tories  was  to  take  place  in  a  few  days  in 
an  obscure  valley,  called  the  Hemlock  Glade, 
some  miles  to  the  westward  of  our  village. 
Several  of  the  leading  whigs  were  immediately 
summoned  to  the  governor's  house.  The  par 
ticulars  of  the  information  were  laid  before 
them,  and  their  opinions  asked  as  to  the  mea 
sures  it  would  be  most  advisable  to  pursue. 
After  some  deliberation,  it  was  agreed  that  the 
information  should  be  kept  secret,  lest  alarm 
might  be  given  to  the  tories,  and  theirassembling 
prevented — for,  it  was  considered,  that  the  act 
of  their  aiiembling  would  be  such  manifest  proof 
of  their  treasonable  designs,  as  would  reconcile 
their  best  friends  to  the  necessity  and  justice 
of  their  punishment.  In  the  mean  time  it  was 
proposed  that  an  armed  force,  sufficient  to  over 
power  them,  should  be  collected  as  secretly  as 


OP  WFOMING.  87 

possible,  by  which  their  meeting  might  be  sur 
prised,  themselves  carried  to  prison,  and  all 
their  machinations  frustrated  and  their  power 
of  doing  mischief  destroyed  at  one  blow.  This 
plan  had  also  another  essential  advantage.  It 
would  furnish  sufficient  evidence  of  the  guilt 
of  the  culprits,  without  obliging  the  authorities 
to  expose  the  individual  from  whom  the  infor 
mation  originated.  Such  exposure  was,  if  pos 
sible,  to  be  avoided,  as  it  would  incapacitate 
him  from  afterwards  serving  the  patriotic  cause 
in  the  character  of  a  spy." 

Thus  far  the  epistle  of  Dr.  Watson  has  an 
swered  the  purpose  of  our  narrative.  The  re 
mainder  having  by  some  accident  been  destroy 
ed,  the  story  must  proceed  without  its  aid.  By 
industrious  research  the  writer  has  obtained  a 
sufficient  acquaintance  with  the  facts,  to  be  able 
to  relate  them  accurately  enough  without  the 
aid  of  any  written  document. 

The  measures  mentioned  by  the  Doctor  hav 
ing  been  agreed  to,  a  young  and  spirited  officer 
of  the  militia  of  the  district,  named  Dennison, 
undertook  to  have  a  sufficient  armed  force  in 
readiness  for  the  service.  In  the  valley  ap 
pointed  for  the  meeting  of  the  tories,  there 
was  a  small  log  house  belonging  to  one  of  their 
faction.  About  noon,  on  the  appointed  day, 
around  this  rustic  building,  the  conspirators 


^HmK:' 
S8  THE  BETROTHED 

began  to  assemble,  and  until  about  two  o'clock 
continued  to  increase  in  number,  without  pro 
ceeding  to  business.  Butler,  Brandt,  land 
Aranooko,  the  Sachem  of  the  Mohawks,  were 
early  on  the  scene.  In  conformity  with  the 
custom  of  modern  and  fashionable  historians, 
we  shall  stop  the  progress  of  the  story  for  a 
short  time,  in  order  to  give  a  brief  sketch  of 
these  three  distinguished  personages.  Though 
this  may  communicate  no  important  informa 
tion,  it  may  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  reader, 
and,  if  so,  will  not  be  writing  in  vain. 

Butler  possessed  a  good  figure;  and,  in  his 
pleasant  moods,  a  handsome  countenance.  But 
in  his  moments  of  gloom  and  resentment  he 
betrayed  the  looks  of  a  ruffian,  and  in  his  pe 
riods  of  wrath  the  scowl  of  a  demon.  On 
such  occasions  the  contracted  brows,  the  flushed 
cheeks,  the  clenched  teeth,  the  quivering  lips, 
and  the  eyes  flashing  fire  like  burning  mirrors, 
denoted  the  hellish  fury  of  his  mind,  and  if  he 
did  not  become  loathsome,  he  became  terrify 
ing.  But  his  most  furious  fits  could  be  con 
trolled  by  his  hypocrisy  where  his  interest  re 
quired  it.  A  moment's  reflection  would  replace 
him  on  his  guard,  and  restore  to  him  a  placidity 
yet  an  expressiveness  of  countenance,  which  at 
once  indicated  great  knowledge  of  the  world, 
and  ability  to  deceive  it. — But  having  spoken 


OF  WYOMING.  89 

of  his  appearance  and  character  in  a  preceding 
part  of  our  narrative,  it  is  unncessary  to  en 
large  upon  it  here. 

The  ferocity  of  Brandt,  his  courage,  his  ac 
tivity  and  robust  strength,  are  well  known  to 
the  readers  of  history,  which  has  abundantly 
exposed  to  an  indignant  world,  the  sanguinary 
and  vengeful  disposition  of  this  most  daring  of 
savages.  His  hatred  of  the  whites  is  said  to 
have  been  of  a  more  embittered  character  than 
was  usual  even  among  the  Indians.  This  is  the 
more  remarkable,  as  he  himself  was  but  a  half- 
Indian,  his  father  having  been  a  white  man,  of 
German  descent,  who  on  occasion  of  some  disgust 
which  he  had  imbibed  against  civilized  society, 
took  up  his  residence  among  the  Indians.  The 
collisions  with  the  frontier  settlers  into  which 
the  restless  and  enterprising  disposition  of 
Brandt  had  frequently  brought  him,  and  in 
which  he  had  met  with  many  repulses,  no 
doubt  tended  much  to  irritate  his  feelings,  and 
arouse  that  animosity  against  the  whites  which 
was  the  reigning  passion  of  his  soul. 

The  Sachem,  Aranooko,  was  an  Indian  of  a 
dignified  figure,  somewhat  advanced  in  years, 
but  still  athletic  and  healthful.  He  was  ac 
tuated  with  all  the  antipathy  natural  to  the 
aborigines  against  the  despoilers  of  their  race; 
yet  he  was  averse  to  useless  and  wanton  war- 
H  2 


90  THE  BETROTHED 

fare  upon  them.  He  was  unlike  Brandt  in  the 
circumstance,  that  the  destruction  of  white  men 
of  itself,  unattended  with  any  advantage  to  the 
Indian  cause,  afforded  him  no  pleasure.  At 
least,  like  a  prudent  father  of  his  people,  he 
was  unwilling  to  plunge  them  into  the  horrors 
of  war,  when  it  afforded  no  prospect  of  a  suc 
cessful  issue,  merely  from  vengeful  motives. 
He  possessed  neither  the  unbounded  ferocity 
nor  reckless  hardihood  of  Brandt — yet  he  was 
greatly  under  the  influence  of  that  mongrel 
savage;  and  it  was  chiefly  by  his  persuasions 
that  he  had  been  induced  to  join  the  present 
confederacy  against  the  inhabitants  of  Wyo 
ming. 


OF  WYOMING.  91 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


A  fairer  person  lost  not  heaven;  he  seemed 

For  dignity  composed,  and  high  exploit: 

Hut  all  was  false  and  hollow;  though  his  tongue 

Dropt  manna,  and  would  make  the  worse  appear 

The  better  reason.  Milton. 


Brandt  and  Aranooka  sat  on  a  bench  in  the 
chief  apartment  of  the  log-cottage  already  men 
tioned,  waiting  with  dignified  gravity,  and  in 
meditative  silence,  the  full  assemblage  of  the 
tories,  whose  number  was  every  moment  in 
creasing  by  fresh  accessions  from  various  parts 
of  the  district.  Five  or  six  other  savages  sat 
near  them.  The  two  chiefs  were  drest  in  a 
very  showy  and  rather  imposing  costume.  Their 
vestments  of  scarlet  flannel,  wide  in  the  sleeves, 
and  tied  closely  round  the  body,  were  orna 
mented  in  front,  by  an  intertexture  of  porcu 
pine's  quills  and  the  down  of  various  coloured 
birds,  wrought  into  curious  devices.  These, 
together  with  their  leggings  of  deer  skin — their 
mockasins  of  buffalo  hide — and,  above  all,  their 
head  dresses  adorned  with  feathers  of  the  flam 
ingo  and  the  eagle,  presented  to  the  eye  a  wild 
but  rich  and  picturesque  appearance.  The 
dignified  composure  of  these  rude  sons  of  the 


D2  T%E  BETROTHED 


forest  was  well  contrasted  with  the  noisy  rest 
lessness  of  the  tories  who  filled  the  apartment, 
and  were  often  disputatious  and  clamorous,  and 
sometimes  even  indecorous  in  their  conversa 
tion  and  conduct.  Ardent  spirits,  furnished 
for  payment  by  the  owner  of  the  cabin,  were 
used  freely  by  the  whites.  But  Aranooko  and 
his  companions  refused  to  taste  any  until  the 
business  for  which  they  had  met,  should  be 
transacted. 

Such  was  the  state  of  matters  within  doors. 
before  the  hour  appointed  for  the  transaction 
of  business  arrived.  Without,  a  promiscupus 
assemblage.  of  several  hundred  men,  indulged 
themselves  in  military  exercises,  or  in  discuss 
ing  the  merits  and  prospects  of  their  enterprise, 
or  in  feats  of  strength  and  other  amusements, 
as  whim  or  inclination  suggested.  At  length. 
twelve  o'clock  being  announced,  Butler  mount 
ed  on  an  elevated  platform  outside  the  door, 
and  requested  the  attention  of  the  assembly, 
which  he  addressed  as  follows:  — 

"  Friends  and  fellow  subjects,  I  now  beg 
leave  to  state  the  object  of  calling  you  together 
on  the  present  occasion.  But  first  let  me  ob 
serve,  that  I  hope  there  is  no  one  here  who  is 
not  truly  and  zealously  faithful  to  the  cause  in 
which  we  are  embarked,  namely,  resistance  to 
the  unnatural  and  bloody  rebellion  now  raging 


OF  WYOMING.  93 

. 

throughout  this  unhappy  land.  Remember, 
my  friends,  that  \ve  have  been  born  subjects  to 
the  kind  and  beneficent  monarch  who,  at  pre 
sent,  sits  on  'the  throne  of  Britain.  Britain, 
that  noble  and  illustrious  isle,  whose  arts,  and 
arms,  and  literature  have  shed  a  glorious  radi 
ance  over  the  whole  world,  in  which  we,  as 
her  children,  largely  partake;  and  of  which,  if 
we  were  actuated  by  a  proper  sense  of  duty 
and  gratitude  for  the  benefits  she  has,  by  her 
fostering  and  protecting  care,  conferred  upon 
us,  we  should  be  proud.  Unhappily,  a  large 
portion  of  our  countrymen  have  shown  that 
they  are  not  actuated  by  such  generous  motives. 
Stimulated  by  pride  or  selfishness,  or  misled 
by  the  sophistry  and  cant  of  turbulent  orators, 
the  great  mass  of  our  people  have  abandoned 
the  path  of  duty,  broken  the  ties  of  gratitude, 
set  at  nought  their  allegiance,  and  rushed  into 
a  wild,  sanguinary,  and  desperate  rebellion, 
which  has  already  brought  destruction  on  thou 
sands,  and  must  terminante  in  the  absolute  ruin 
of  their  audacious  and  ambitious  schemes. 

"My  friends,  I  am,  in  truth,  amazed  and  griev 
ed  when  I  think  on  the  state  into  which  the  affairs 
of  these  colonies,  so  lately  blooming  in  peace  and 
prosperity,  are  now  plunged.  I  could  scarcely 
imagine,  did  notwoful  experience  convince  me 
of  the  fact,  that  such  a  degree  of  turpitude  as  is 


94  THE  BETROTHED 

sufficient  to  produce  the  present  direful  crisis, 
could  exist  in  human  bosoms.  What!  the  sons 
of  Britains  separate  themselves  from  Britain ! — 
disconnect  themselves  from  British  prosperity, 
British  virtue,  British  greatness,  and  British 
glory! — And  for  what  object? — the  paltry  con 
sideration  of  saving  a  few  thousand  pounds  a 
year,  which  we  were  well  able,  and  well  enti 
tled  to  pay;  and  which  the  slightest  impulse  of 
gratitude  or  honour  ought  to  have  rendered  us 
willing  to  pay.  And  is  it  possible  that  the  pre 
sent  horrid  state  of  things  has  arisen  from  this 
sordid  motive?  Has  it  been  a  mere  petty  finan 
cial  speculation  that  has  driven  three  millions 
of  people  into  the  crime  of  rebellion  against  a 
parental  government;  and  induced  them  to 
plunge  into  a  sea  of  blood  for  the  hope  of  sav 
ing  annually  a  few  pence  per  head,  which  they 
ought  to  have  been  proud  to  pay  a  generous 
parent,  who  had  so  lately  expended  millions  for 
their  sakes?  But  no;  my  fellow  subjects,  repug 
nance  to  parliamentary  taxation,  let  the  disor- 
ganizers  pretend  what  they  please,  was  not  the 
cause  which  induced  the  majority  of  the  leading 
rebels  to  raise  their  accursed  standard.  It  was 
ambition.  Our  lawyers  got  an  itch  for  making 
laws  for  a  nation,  hence  they  must  have  a  con 
gress.  Our  military  captains  wanted  war  that 


OF  WYOMING.  95 

they  might  become  generals:  our  sheriffs  and 
magistrates,  and  forward  politicians  of  every 
class,  wanted  independence,  that  they  might 
become  governors  of  states,  or  members  of 
cabinets,  or  public  functionaries  of  some  kind, 
whereby  they  might  make  a  figure  in  the  land 
at  the  public  expense. 

"  But  enough  of  these  dishonest  and  dishon 
ourable  men,  who  have  embroiled  us  with  the 
mighty  power  to  whom  we  owe  allegiance,  and 
with  whose  vast  superiority  of  strength  it  is 
madness  to  contend.  The  distress  into  which 
their  schemes  have  plunged  the  country  ren 
ders  them  abhorred  by  every  virtuous  and  well 
principled  mind.  My  friends,  I  hope  there  is 
not  one  among  you  who  does  not  loath  and  de 
test  them  as  you  would  a  pestilence;  and  will 
not  be  ready  to  hasten  with  just  and  holy  ven 
geance  upon  them,  as  you  would  upon  incen 
diaries  whom  you  caught  in  the  act  of  commit 
ting  destruction  upon  all  that  you  held  dear 
and  estimable,  or  accounted  sacred  and  venera 
ble  upon  earth. 

"  I  propose  now  to  lead  you  against  a  nest  of 
rebels  of  this  stamp.  They  have  not,  indeed, 
taken  the  field  against  their  sovereign,  but  they 
have  abjured  their  allegiance,  and  thrown  off  the 
lawful  authority  under  which  their  fathers  and 
themselves  were  born.  Strange,  indeed,  and 


96  THE  BETROTHED 

depraved  must  be  that  state  of  society  in  which 
allegiance  and  loyalty  are  thrown  aside  with  as 
little  ceremony  and  reflection,  as  the  casting  off 
of  a  loose  gown  or  a  pair  of  slippers.  It  is  against 
the  whigs  in  the  adjoining  settlements,  whose 
militia  hold  their  fortifications  for  the  rebel 
congress,  that  I  propose  to  lead  you,  and  I  call 
upon  you,  by  your  allegiance,  to  follow  me. 
That  you  may  see  I  am  authorized  to  make 
such  a  call,  I  request  you  to  look  upon  this 
commission.  It  has  the  signature  of  Howe,  as 
noble  and  brave  a  general  as  ever  wore  a  sword. 
I  have  within  these  two  weeks  been  in  his  pre 
sence:  I  have  been  honoured  and  delighted 
with  his  conversation;  and  have  received  from 
him  authority  to  arm  all  his  majesty's  loyal 
subjects  in  this  district,  in  order  to  reduce  the 
people  in  the  neighbourhood  to  obedience,  and 
sieze  upon  their  fortified  places  in  the  name  of 
his  majesty.  Hearken  to  the  reward  offered 
us  in  the  event  of  succeeding  in  this  service.  It 
is  a  rich  one-^no  less  than  the  whole  valley 
of  Wyoming,  including  all  its  improvements, 
dwellings,  cattle,  crops  and  property  of  every 
description,  now  forfeited  by  the  rebellion  of 
their  present  owners,  to  be  divided  amongst  us 
in  proportion  to  the  merit  we  shall  individually 
exhibit  in  the  contest  we  may  have  to  sustain. 
"  If  we  are  truly  zealous  in  the  cause,  and 

' 


OP  WYOMING.  97 

desirous  to  earn  this  rich  reward,  we  cannot 
but  succeed.  The  force  against  which  we  shall 
have  to  contend  is  not  much  more  numerous 
than  our  own,  nor  is  it  better  equipped  for  war, 
for  of  warlike  stores  the  British  general  has 
taken  care  to  supply  us  abundantly.  Besides, 
what  have  we,  inured  as  we  are  to  all  the  toils 
and  risks  of  war,  and  experienced  in  its  arts 
and  stratagems,  to  fear  from  a  simple  agricul 
tural  race,  the  majority  of  whom  have  never  wit 
nessed  a  battle  nor  destroyed  a  foe.  It  is  my  be 
lief,  my  friends,  that  on  the  first  appearance  of 
danger,  these  men  of  timidity  and  peace,  will 
submit,  and  acknowledge  once  more  the  au 
thority  of  their  legitimate  sovereign,  while  we 
shall  earn  the  reward  of  our  loyalty  by  becom 
ing  the  owners  of  the  fair  estates  they  have 
forfeited  by  their  rebellion. 

"But  should  they  unexpectedly  resist,  besides 
our  own  strength,  we  shall,  in  reducing  them, 
have  the  powerful  aid  of  the  brave  Mohawks, 
the  chiefs  of  whom  I  have  invited  to  this  con 
ference,  in  order  to  lay  before  them  the  propo 
sals  of  General  Howe  for  an  alliance  between 
them  and  the  government  of  Britain.  The  lib 
erality  of  the  terms  offered  to  these  valiant 
people,  cannot  but  secure  their  approbation  and 
win  their  aid;  and  with  such  potent  allies,  what 


98  THE  BETROTHED 

have  we  to  fear  from  the  feeble  peasantry  of 
Wyoming. 

"  Thus,  my  friends,  the  crisis  which  to  oth 
ers  is  so  gloomy  and  full  of  peril,  opens  to  us  a 
brilliant  prospect  of  glorious  victory  and  rich 
reward.  Be  courageous  and  resolute,  and  soon 
the  pleasant  dwellings  in  which  we  have  been 
only  sojourners,  and  the  fertile  fields  which 
surround  them,  shall  be  our  own — and  we  shall 
dispose  of  the  present  inhabitants  according  to 
their  deserts.  What  say  ye,  my  gallant  friends, 
shall  we  raise  the  standard  of  loyalty  in  these 
regions,  and  strike  for  possessions  so  valuable?" 

A  shout  of  applause  was  given  by  the  audi 
tors  of  this  harangue,  in  answer  to  the  question 
with  which  it  concluded.  This  shout  continued 
to  resound  for  some  minutes,  and  seemed  to 
express  the  unanimous  assent  of  the  assembly 
to  the  proposal  of  the  speaker.  It  was  not 
unanimous,  however.  There  was  one  man,  and 
one  too  in  whose  staunch  loyalty  all  present 
placed  the  firmest  confidence,  who  opposed 
waging  war  against  the  people  of  Wyoming, 
for  the  purpose  of  despoiling  them  of  their  pro 
perty.  This  man's  name  was  Clifton,  who  had 
already  suffered  much  for  his  royalism.  He 
had  the  courage  to  address  the  assembly,  and 
was  listened  to  only  on  account  of  his  known 
zeal  for  the  royal  cause,  and  the  sacrifices  he 


OF  WYOMING.  .        99 

had  made  for  it.  The  warm  expressions  of 
personal  regard  for  him  which  General  Howe 
had  more  than  once  used  in  the  hearing  of  But 
ler,  induced  the  latter  to  attend  to  his  remarks 
without  interruption,  although  not  without  im 
patience  and  a  strong  feeling  of  resentment. 

"  Friends  and  fellow  subjects,"  said  Clifton, 
"  your  zeal  in  behalf  of  the  government  under 
which  we  and  our  fathers  have  so  long  flour 
ished,  is  worthy  of  all  praise;  and  in  these  un 
happy  times  of  treason  and  rebellion,  is  refresh 
ing  and  consolatory  to  every  well-disposed 
mind.  I  would  not  damp  your  ardour  in  such 
a  cause;  but  I  would  direct  it  to  the  adoption 
of  justifiable  measures.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  sit 
down  in  sluggish  apathy,  while  rebellion,  like 
a  raging  monster,  fills  the  land  with  blood  and 
desolation.  No,  my  friends,  I  rejoice  to  be 
hold  your  enthusiasm — I  would  have  you  to  be 
up  and  active  in  the  cause  of  the  lawful  and 
just  government  under  which  our  colonies  have 
long  enjoyed  so  many  blessings:  whose  protec 
tion  and  care  alone  preserved  them  in  the  fee 
bleness  of  their  infancy,  and  reared  them  to 
their  present  state  of  maturity. 

"  But  I  would  have  you  to  select  proper  ob 
jects  for  the  display  of  your  zeal.  I  would  have 
you  to  direct  your  hostility  to  points  where  you 
could  perform  real  service  to  your  sovereign,  and 


100  THE  BETROTHED 

vindicate,  upon  enemies  actually  in  the  field, 
the  majesty  of  his  laws.  I  would  have  you  to 
wield  your  energies  against  rebels — and  there- 
are  abundance  of  such  in  the  land — to  whom 
you  are  under  no  obligations  for  hospitality, 
kindness  and  protection;  and  to  whom  you  have 
made  no  pledges  of  amity  and  peace.  I  cannot 
suppose  that  you  have  so  soon  forgotten  the  for 
lorn  and  fugitive  state  under  which  we  implored 
and  received  shelter  and  sustenance  from  the 
people  of  these  settlements.  We  were  driven 
from  our  homes,  and  like  wild  beasts,  hunted 
into  the  forests  by  the  vindictive  power  of  our 
enemies.  We  fled  hither,  and  threw  ourselve? 
on  the  mercy  of  the  inhabitants  of  these  valleys. 
Although  they  had  embraced  the  cause  of  our 
enemies,  and  disapproved  of  the  political  and 
warlike  course  we  had  pursued,  yet  they  sa\\ 
us  destitute  and  suffering,  and  their  humanity 
relieved  us.  They  received  our  assurances  of 
living  in  tranquillity  among  them,  and  they  af 
forded  us  habitations.  They  fed,  they  clothed, 
they  lodged  us.  We  are  at  this  moment,  pen 
sioners  on  their  bounty,  protegees  of  theii 
care;  and,  trusting  in  our  promises  of  peaceable 
behaviour,  they  have  taken  no  precautions 
against  our  hostility,  as  if  they  could  not  dream 
that  men  were  to  be  found  so  wicked  as  to  aim 


OF  WYOMING.  101 

insidious  and  dark  destruction  against  protect 
ing  and  confiding  friends. ' 

"The  king's  general  requires  us  to  arm;  I 
say  too  let  us  arm,  since  we  have  obtained  the 
means.  But  let  us  arm  against  our  enemies; 
not  against  our  friends.  The  king  has  abund 
ance  of  foes  who  are  no  friends  of  ours.  Let  us 
march  to  the  sea-board;  we  shall  there  find  re 
bels  to  whom  we  owe  no  gratitude,  whom  it 
will  be  our  duty  to  subdue,  and  for  subduing 
whom,  the  royal  authorities  will  be  as  grateful, 
and,  no  doubt,  reward  us  as  liberally,  as  for 
subduing  a  people  less  deeply  plunged  in  the 
guilt  of  rebellion,  and  to  respect  whose  welfare 
we  are  bound  by  every  tie  of  gratitude  and 
honour." 

When  Clifton  ceased  speaking,  a  mixed  sensa 
tion  seemed  to  pervade  the  assembly — amurmur 
expressive  of  divided  sentiments,  was  distinctly 
heard  in  various  directions;  for  many  were  in 
reality,  forcibly  struck  with  the  justice  of  his 
arguments  and  the  propriety  of  his  views.  This 
feeling  of  rectitude,  however,  did  not  prevail 
long.  Butler  hastened  to  stem  the  current  that 
was  setting  against  his  designs;  and  by  his  ad 
dress  he  completely  succeeded  in  giving  it  a 
contrary  direction. 

"  What!"  said  he,  "have  I,  in  reality, heard 
sentiments  of  lukewarmness  in  the  cause  of 
i  2 


102  THE  BETROTHED 

Britain,  from  one  who  has  hitherto  been  so  dt  - 
voted  to  her  interests;  who  has  fought  and  bled 
and  lost  his  all  for  his  fidelity  to  the  govern 
ment  that  claims  his  allegiance!  But  it  is  the 
weakness  of  humanity — it  is  the  mere  frothing 
of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  which  now 
prevails  over  his  natural  vigour  of  soul,  and  en 
feebles  his  energies  with  scruples  of  sickly  sen 
timent  and  morbid  sensibility.  We  are  dis 
tinctly  called  upon  by  the  British  general,  to 
seize  and  occupy  the  fortresses  of  the  Wyoming 
valley,  in  behalf  of  the  king,  and  to  compel  the 
inhabitants  to  return  to  their  allegiance." 

Here  Butler  read  a  commission  which  he  had 
received  from  general  Howe,  appointing  him 
to  the  command  of  such  of  the  frontier  royalists 
as  might  join  his  standard.  He  also  read  to  the 
assembly  a  paper  of  instructions,  requiring  him 
to  use  every  effort  in  his  power  to  reduce  the 
malecontents  of  Wyoming,  and  to  preserve  the 
district  in  subjection  to  the  regal  authority. 
This  paper  likewise  contained  the  promise  of  be 
stowing  on  him  and  his  coadjutors  in  this  ser 
vice,  all  the  lands  of  the  district  whose  owner? 
should  be  convicted  of  any  act  of  disloyalty. 

"Now,"  said  he,  after  he  had  finished  read 
ing  these  documents,  "all  who  gre  willing  to 
obey  the  orders  of  general  Howe,  and  to  serve 
their  king,  and  earn  the  reward  offered  for 


OP  WYOMING.          »  103 

such  service,  will  come  forward,  enrol  their 
names  on  the  list  of  the  king's  friends,  and 
swear  fidelity  to  his  cause.  Those  who  refuse 
had  better  now  retire  from  this  assembly,  for  in 
half  an  hour  they  shall  be  treated  as  enemies." 

None  retired.  All  were  either  convinced  or 
intimidated  by  Butler's  statement.  Even  Clif 
ton  tacitly  yielded  to  the  opinions  of  the  ma 
jority,  and  made  no  further  opposition.  One 
Ford,  an  active  and  violent  tory,  was  appointed 
to  administer  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  assem 
bly;  while  Butler  and  two  or  three  other  lead 
ers  withdrew  to  hold  a  conference  with  the 
Indian  chiefs.  The  calumet  was  lighted,  and 
each  having  smoked  from  it,  Aranooko  arose, 
and  addressed  Butler. 

"Brother,  we  received  your  message,  and 
are  here.  Tell  us  the  will  of  our  father,  the 
great  king  of  the  east.  We  would  be  his  friends, 
and  if  his  wishes  Ise  reasonable,  we  will  obey 
him.  The  Mohawks  have  suffered  much  from 
the  people  of  your  race,  the  disobedient  chil 
dren  of  your  father  beyond  the  great  lake.  Our 
revenge  has  lately  been  asleep;  but  if  the  voice 
of  your  father  comes  in  friendship  to  us,  we 
will  hear,  we  will  awake — we  will  kindle  up 
the  fierceness  of  our  wrath,  like  the  angry 
panther  when  hunted  in  his  native  woods.  We 
will  be  a  rod  in  the  hands  of  your  father  to  chas- 


104  THE  BETROTHED 

tise  his  unruly  children — we  will  be  a  flaming 
brand  to  avenge  our  own  wrongs.  You  have 
heard  me,  brother;  now  speak." 

"Brave  Mohawks!"  replied  Butler,  "our 
father  knows  ye  are  valiant,  and  he  asks  your 
aid.  He  knows  ye  have  been  wronged,  and  he 
bids  you  avenge  yourselves.  The  chief  captain 
of  his  host  bade  me  say  to  you,  that  he  will 
supply  you  with  clothing,  and  with  instruments 
of  war  sufficient  for  your  whole  tribe.  Ask 
what  else  you  want,  and  it  shall  be  given,  for 
you  are  a  brave  people,  and  we  wish  for  your 
friendship." 

"Brother,"  said  Aranooko — "clothing  and 
arms  are  all  we  want.  Our  forests  supply  us 
with  food,  and  with  fuel,  and  with  timber  for 
wigwams.  We  want  no  more. — But  when  we 
do,  we  shall  ask  it.  We  are  your  friends.  The 
disobedient  of  your  race  are  our  enemies.  We 
will  join  you  in  war  against  them. — Receive 
our  Wampum!" 

So  saying,  he  handed  to  Butler,  a  long  string 
of  beads  made  of  red  berries,  in  testimony 
of  the  league.  In  return  for  which  Butler  made 
him  a  present  of  several  trinkets  he  had  pro 
vided  for  the  purpose.  Brandt  now  arose.  His 
eyes  glanced  fire  for  some  moments,  then  cooled 
into  a  settled  gleam  of  ferocious  satisfaction; 
while  pride  perched  on  his  heavy  brows,  de- 


OF  WYOMING.  105 

termination  expanded  his  large  lips,  and  im 
parted  a  clenching  firmness  to  the  vigorous 
muscles  of  his  whole  frame,  as  he  addressed 
himself  to  Butler. 

"Brother,"  said  he,  "You  and  I  are  now- 
leagued  in  one  cause.  You  have  rebellion  to 
punish.  I  have  wrongs  to  avenge.  Our  vic 
tims  are  the  same.  I  devote  them  to  death. 
Let  no  man  step  between  me  and  my  purpose! 
Brother,  I  am  determined  on  slaughter.  They 
shall  die!  Are  you  of  my  mind?" 

Butler  himself  was  startled  at  the  fiendish  fe 
rocity  with  which  the  savage  asked  this  ques 
tion.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  recover 
from  his  surprise,  and  to  reflect  on  an  answer. 
He  then  said: 

"Brother,  our  minds  agree.  Blood  must 
flow.  Death  must  mark  our  course,  for  rebel 
lion  must  be  rooted  out,  and  your  vengeance 
be  appeased.  Brother,  our  hearts  are  one.  I 
feel  that  we  are  colleagues  in  a  work  destined 
to  eternize  our  names  as  perpetrators  of  unpar- 
ralleled  deeds. — Brother,  shall  we  exchange 
gifts  in  token  of  the  compact  of  blood?" 

Butler  received  a  sharp  hatchet  in  return  for 
a  poignard,  on  handing  which  to  Brandt,  he  ob 
served,  "  The  point  of  that  steel  is  for  the 
hearts  of  thy  enemies,  until  thy  revenge  is 
glutted ! — The  edge  of  this  hatchet  is  for  the 


106  THE  BETROTHED 

necks  of  rebels  until  they  be  cut  off  from  the 
land!" 

"Why  wert  thou  not  born  a  Mohawk?"  ex 
claimed  Brandt.  "  Thy  sternness  is  worthy  of 
our  nation,  and  in  fierceness  of  spirit  we  are 
brothers!" 

At  this  moment  the  party  were  startled  with 
a  discharge  of  musketry,  and  a  cry  of  terror  and 
distress  which  rent  the  air,  and  announced  that 
they  were  attacked  by  the  whigs.  Butler. 
Brandt,  Aranooko,  and  all,  indeed,  who  were 
inside  of  the  log-house,  rushed  out  to  lend 
assistance  to  their  friends,  but  they  found  them 
in  full  flight,  and  were  themselves  borne  off  the 
scene  by  a  torrent  of  fugitives  which  they  could 
not  resist.  In  a  moment  colonel  Dennison  and 
his  militia  occupied  the  ground  on  which  the 
tories  had  been  assembled,  whence  they  de 
tached  a  strong  party  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives. 
The  closeness  of  the  woods  and  intricacies  of 
the  country,  favoured  the  flight  of  the  latter, 
and  only  about  forty  fell  into  the  hands  of  their 
pursuers.  Among  these  was  Clifton,  who  was 
immediately  released,  on  account  of  the  effort 
he  had  made  in  opposition  to  the  proposal  to 
attack  Wyoming,  which  was  communicated  to 
the  whigs  by  one  of  their  party  who  had  acted 
as  a  spy  among  the  conspirator- 


OF  WYOMING.  107 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Ingratitude!  thou  poisoner  of  the  heart, 
That  mak'st  it  dead  to  all  the  joys  of  life, 
What  fiend  engendered  thee!  and  brought  thee  forth, 
And  let  thee  loose  upon  the  sons  .of  men! 
So  that  the  one  upon  the  other  plays 
Such  arts  of  treachery,  as  sting  the  soul 
With  tortures  keener  than  the  adder's  fang! 
Oh!  thou  dost  wring  the  meek  confiding  spirit, 
With  wrong'd  affection's  fierce,  envenomed  grip, 
Until  the  world  seems  to  the  writhing  victim, 
A  wilderness  of  pit-falls,  thorns  and  briers, 
With  not  one  green  nor  sunny  spot  therein. 
Barley. 

Who  has  made  any  progress  on  the  journey 
of  life,  and  mingled,  in  any  degree,  with  soci 
ety,  without  experiencing  the  truth  of  the  above 
sentiments?  What  has  produced  to  human 
hearts  more  intense  pangs  than  ingratitude?  To 
be  injured  by  those  on  whom  we  have  confer 
red  no  favour,  on  whom  we  have  fixed  no  es 
teem,  and  lavished  no  bounty,  occasions  but 
little  surprise,  and  inspires  but  little  dissatis 
faction  with  human  nature.  We  can  still,  after 
such  an  injury,  look  upon  the  world  and  upon 
mankind,  in  their  natural  colours,  compounded 
of  the  various  and  ever-changing  shades  of  good 
and  evil,  and  remain  satisfied  with  ourselves. 
Hope  blends  with  fortitude,  and  enables  us  to 
bear  present  ills  in  anticipation  of  future  good. 
But  when  we  have  detected  the  lurking  ani- 


108  THE  BETROTHED 

mosities  of  a  favourite,  or  received  an  insidious 
blow  from  one  whom  we  have  trusted,  aided, 
or  esteemed,  grief  for  disappointed  hopes  and 
lost  affections,  mortification  at  being  duped  by 
hypocrisy,  and  horror  at  witnessing  such  a 
manifestation  of  the  perfidy  of  man,  contribute 
much  more  than  the  amount  of  the  injury  re 
ceived,  to  inspire  us  with  gloomy  views  of  our 
nature  and  condition,  and  render  us  discontent 
ed  with  existence. 

How  intensely,  on  this  occasion,  did  the  as 
tonished  people  of  Wyoming  experience  such 
feelings!  The  greater  number  of  the  individu 
als  who  were  detected  in  this  foul  conspiracy 
against  their  lives  and  properties,  had  been  the 
welcome  partakers  of  their  bounty,  many  of 
them  the  confidants  of  their  secrets,  and  some 
of  them  bound  to  their  affections  by  the  closest 
ties  of  relationship  or  marriage.  When  the 
prisoners  were  conducted  through  several  of  the 
villages  on  their  way  to  the  fort  at  Wyoming, 
how  grievously  did  many  a  confiding  heart 
shudder  to  reflect  how  it  had  been  betrayed, 
and  to  perceive  that  its  destruction  had  been 
contrived  by  those  on  whom  its  confidence  had 
been  placed  without  restraint,  and  its  kindness 
lavished  without  limits. 

Perhaps  there  was  no  circumstance  connect 
ed  with  these  agitating  scenes  more  remarkable 


OP  WYOMING.  109 

than  the  forbearance  of  the  inhabitants  of  Wyo 
ming  towards  their  captured  betrayers.  The 
bare  idea  that  such  a  treacherous  and  murderous 
combination  had  been  projected,  was  enough  to 
inflame  the  blood  of  its  intended  victims,  and 
to  arouse  them  to  a  degree  of  indignation  which, 
had  it  arisen  and  overwhelmed  their  prisoners 
in  immediate  destruction,  would  have  been 
neither  so  wonderful  nor  censurable  as  many 
ebullitions  of  popular  fury  which  history  has 
recorded,  nor  half  so  flagitious  and  detestable 
as  the  foul  conspiracy  it  would  have  avenged. 
But  no  excess  of  this  kind  was  committed. 
The  generous  inhabitants  of  the  district  were 
more  grieved  than  irritated  at  the  example  of 
treachery  and  barbarous  depravity  they  now 
witnessed.  Alarm  and  sorrow,  rather  than 
indignation  and  rage,  filled  their  hearts  and  ac 
tuated  their  feelings.  To  their  governor,  Ze- 
bulon  Butler,  who,  though  the  relative  of  their 
arch  enemy,  was  a  tried  and  faithful  friend  to 
their  cause,  and  to  five  of  the  most  intelligent 
of  their  known  patriots,  whom  they  selected  to 
form  his  council,  they  committed  the  manage 
ment  of  their  affairs  at  this  critical  juncture'. 
Mr.  Norwood,  Mr.  Austin,  Dr.  Watson, 
Colonel  Dennison,  and  the  judge  of  their  court, 
whose  name  was  Harvey,  formed  this  council; 
and  a  more  judicious  selection  could  not  have 
K 


110  THE  BETROTHED 

been  made.  In  the  honesty  and  prudence  of 
these  men,  the  inhabitants  placed  implicit  reli 
ance.  Nor  did  they  place  it  wrongfully. — 
Whatever  zeal,  vigilance  and  correct  judgment 
could  effect  for  the  safety  of  the  district,  was  ac 
complished.  But  their  resources  were  small  in 
comparison  to  those  of  their  enemies,  who  were 
in  league  with  the  powerful  tribe  of  the  Mo 
hawks,  and  supplied  with  all  the  materials  of 
war,  by  the  British  General. 

The  aspect  of  the  affairs  of  the  settlement 
was  indeed  extremely  menacing.  The  inhab 
itants  had,  it  is  true,  detected  and  frustrated  a 
fearful  plot,  which,  had  it  with  matured  force 
burst  upon  them  by  surprise,  would  have  found 
them  almost  totally  unprepared  for  resistance, 
and  would  inevitably  have  effected  their  de 
struction.  But  although  this  imminent  danger 
had  been  escaped,  safety  was  far  from  being 
secured.  The  clouds  of  a  tremendous  and  sav 
age  war  were  gathering  around  them.  They 
saw  them  with  the  apprehension  of  rational  be 
ings,  who  could  estimate  probabilities  and  ap 
preciate  consequences.  But  they  trusted  in 
Providence,  and  did  not  sit  down  indolently  to 
await  the  bursting  of  the  storm  in  the  apathy  of 
despair.  They  assumed  the  fortitude  of  men 
conscious  of  a  good  cause,  and  they  made  every 
preparation  for  defence  that  judgment  could 


OF  WYOMING.  Ill 

suggest  or  'circumstances  would  permit.  All 
among  them,  fit  to  bear  arms,  were  enrolled, 
and  instructed  to  be  in  readiness  to  act  on  the 
first  alarm.  Despatches  were  also  forwarded 
to  Washington,  informing  him  of  the  threaten 
ing  aspect  of  their  affairs,  and  their  defenceless 
condition;  and  requesting  military  aid  as  soon  as 
he  could  possibly  send  it.  The  Wyoming  vol 
unteers  were  also  implored  by  many  private 
letters,  to  return  to  the  protection  of  their 
friends  and  their  homes. 

It  was  little  more  than  a  week  after  the 
dispersion  of  the  conspirators  in  the  Hemlock 
Glade,  as  mentioned  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
that  an  incident  happened  which  greatly  in 
creased  the  consternation  of  the  Whigs,  and 
excited  them  to  stronger  feelings  of  resentment 
than  any  thing  that  had  yet  occurred. — Mr. 
Norwood  had  returned  home  on  the  evening  of 
a  warm  day  in  June,  from  a  meeting  of  his  fel 
low  counsellors  at  the  governor's  house,  when 
learning  that  his  daughter  had  gone  into  the 
orchard  which  skirted  the  stream  of  the  Sharon, 
i  n  order  to  enjoy  the  coolness  of  the  evening  air, 
he  hastened  to  join  her.  He  found  her  seated 
near  the  bank  of  the  stream  on  a  favourite  spot, 
where  she  had  often  sat  with  Henry  Austin. 
She  had  been  reading,  probably  for  the  twenti 
eth  time,  a  letter  lately  received  from  Henry. 


112  THE  BETROTHED 

This  letter  described  to  her  the  joyous  entry  ot 
the  troops  under  Washington  into  Philadelphia, 
which  had  been  evacuated  by  the  British  force 
now  under  the  command  of  sir  Henry  Clinton. 
The  glowing  style  of  triumphant  patriotism, 
and  the  ardent  expressions  of  undiminished 
love,  which  pervaded  this  communication  from 
the  chosen  of  her  heart,  warmed  her  feelings 
and  engrossed  her  attention  so  entirely,  that  the 
alarming  aspect  of  the  affairs  of  her  own  neigh 
bourhood  were  for  a  time  forgotten;  her  whole 
faculties  were  employed  in  the  contemplation 
of  her  absent  lover.  His  numerous  virtues, 
his  patriotism,  his  courage,  and  the  unchanging 
and  unchangeable  nature  of  his  love  for  her — 
the  toils  he  had  undergone — the  privations  he 
had  endured,  and  the  dangers  he  had  encoun 
tered  in  the  performance  of  his  duty  to  his 
country — all  stood  imaged  in  her  mind  as  per 
sonifications  of  the  highest  excellence  that 
could  dignify  the  character  and  conduct  of  man. 
And  he  had  been  rewarded  for  these  virtues  and 
privations.  He  had  seen  his  country's  chief  and 
her  gallant  army,  in  triumph  enter  her  capital, 
which  had  just  been  abandoned  by  a  retiring 
enemy. — He  had  himself  formed  part  of  the  glo 
rious  procession.  And  now  he  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  populous  and  fascinating  metropolis. 
• — Her  thoughts  instantly  flowed  in  another 


OP  WYOMING.  113 

current.  Would  he  be  able  to  resist  the  fascina 
tions  of  gayety,  beauty  and  splendor  which  the 
new  scenes  he  should  now  witness  would  present 
to  him?  Amidst  the  many  accomplished  females 
to  whom  he  would  now  become  introduced, 
would  there  be  none  sufficiently  attractive  to 
make  an  impression  on  his  heart?  She  wished 
to  get  rid  of  the  unwelcome  suggestion.  To 
harbour  it  was  painful,  and  might  be  unjust — 
nay,  when  she  reflected  on  the  vows  and  the 
virtues  of  Henry,  she  felt  assured  that  it  was 
unjust. — "No,"  thought  she,  "no  allurements 
will  lead  him  from  the  path  of  fidelity.  The 
temptations  that  shall  assail  him  may  be  great; 
but  his  virtue  is  great — his  love  is  sincere,  and 
he  will  triumph  over  them  all." 

She  was  indulging  this  train  of  thought  when 
her  father  approached  her. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  he, "  the  messenger  to 
general  Washington  has  been  despatched.  Your 
letter  to  Henry  has  gone  with  him.  I  fervently 
pray  that  at  least  our  own  brave  volunteers,  who 
serve  under  him,  may  return  to  our  aid,  before 
the  savages  and  tories  shall  have  time  to  com 
bine  their  forces  and  attack  us." 

"The  distance  is  great  and  the  road  diffi 
cult;"  she  observed,  "but  when  they  hear  of 
our  danger,  affection  will  give  wings  to  their 
K  2 


114  THE  BETROTHED 

speed,  and  I  trust  in  Heaven,  that  they   will 
reach  us  in  time  to  secure  our  safety." 

"  Their  force  is  but  small,"  said  Mr.  Nor 
wood,  "but  their  military  skill  would  be  of 
immense  value.  We  have  requested  general 
Washington  for  more  extensive  aid,  which,  I 
trust,  he  will  be  able  to  spare  us,  since  the  in 
vading  enemy  has  been,  at  length,  compelled  to 
make  a  retrogade  motion,  and  to  retreat,  as  we 
have  just  heard,  across  the  Jerseys,  towards 
New  York,  followed  by  the  whole  patriotic 
army. " 

"  But,  father,"  said  she,  "this  removes  our 
friends  farther  from  our  assistance.  Heaven  only 
knows  at  what  distance  they  may  be,  when 
our  messenger  reaches  them.  Our  situation  is, 
indeed,  perilous.  Our  prospects  are  forlorn." 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  Agnes!"  returned 
her  father.  ''Our  messenger  is  well  acquaint 
ed  with  the  country,  and  he  has  been  ordered 
to  take  the  direct  course  into  Jersey,  and  find 
the  head-quarters  of  Washington  by  the  short 
est  road.  But  lest  he' should  fail,  two  other 
messengers  will  be  despatched  to-morrow. 
Nor  are  we  in  such  immediate  danger,  nor  so 
totally  destitute  of  strength,  as  to  justify  des 
pondency.  Our  men  have  all  assumed  arms — 
they  seem  brave  and  resolute,  and  will  nobly 
resist  any  attack  that  the  traitors  and  their  sav- 


OP  WYOMING.  115 

age  allies  may  make  upon  us.    And  one  or  two 
of  our  forts  are  strong — " 

"  Traitors  and  their  savage  allies!"  ex 
claimed  a  large  man  in  a  mask,  who,  followed 
by  two  savages,  rushed  upon  them  from  the 
midst  of  some  bushes  on  the  bank  of  the  rivulet, 
where  they  had  been  concealed.  The  savages 
seized  Mr.  Norwood,  tied  his  hands  behind 
him,  and  hurried  him  off.  The  man  in  the 
mask  caught  Agnes,  whom,  without  binding, 
he  attempted  also  to  carry  away.  She  screamed 
and  struggled,  but  he  succeeded  in  removing 
her  out  of  the  orchard.  She  ceased  her  cries, 
and  assuming  a  tone  of  entreaty,  begged  for  a 
few  moments'  respite.  She  was  taunted  with 
the  exclamation — 

"  Traitors  and  their  savage  allies!  These 
were  harsh  terms.  You  and  your  father,  fair 
maid,  shall  soon  know  how  far  they  are  appli 
cable."  He  however  slackened  his  pace  with 
the  view  of  treating  her  more  mildly,  as  he 
added  in  a  conciliatory  tone — "you  at  least 
have  nothing  to  fear.  Unless  too  obstinate,  your 
father  and  you  shall  be  both  well  treated.  I 
love  you  and  wish  to  separate  you  from  a  re 
bellious  people  destined  to  destruction.  Be 
hold  me,  and  believe  my  words!" 

He  withdrew  his  mask  and  presented  the 
countenance  of  Butler.  An  instinctive  alarm 


110  THE  BETROTHED 

seized  her,  and  she  again  screamed  aloud.  At 
that  instant  a  man  !on  horseback  gallopped  to 
wards  them,  the  wood  being  sufficiently  open 
to  admit  his  approach.  Butler  drew  forth  a 
pistol.  Agnes  with  great  presence  of  mind, 
watched  his  motions,  and,  at  the  moment  he 
fired,  she  shook  his  arm  so  forcibly,  that  the  ac 
curacy  of  his  aim  was  destroyed,  and  he  missed 
the  advancing  horseman.  He  uttered  a  pro 
fane  exclamation  of  disappointment,  and,  per 
ceiving  the  horseman  to  be  in  the  act  of  pre 
senting  a  pistol,  he  fled,  and  was  soon  concealed 
amidst  the  woods. 

"My  father — my  father  is  carried  off  by  the 
savages!"  cried  Agnes,  as  Dr.  Watson,  for  he 
was  the  horseman,  alighted  in  order  to  raise 
and  support  her,  for  her  alarm  having  overpow 
ered  her,  she  had  sunk  upon  the  ground. 

The  main  road  was  but  a  short  distance  from 
the  scene  of  this  incident.  The  Doctor  had 
been  riding  past  when  he  heard  her  cries.  He 
hastened  to  her  assistance.  He  was  armed  as 
has  been  stated.  Since  the  times  became  dan 
gerous  he  had  never  ventured  from  home  with, 
out  being  so.  When  Butler  missed  him  and 
fled,  he  prudently  reserved  his  fire  that  he 
might  the  more  effectually  protect  Agnes  from 
any  other  assailant  until  she  could  be  conveyed 
to  a  place  of  safety.  This  he  soon  accomplish- 


OF  WyOMING.  117 


ed,  and  hastened  to  raise  a  party  to  go  in  pur 
suit  of  the  captors  of  Mr.  Norwood. 

It  will  be  readily  supposed  that  so  violent  an 
outrage  on  the  person  of  a  clergyman  so  much 
esteemed  as  Mr.  Norwood,  would  produce 
strong  sensations  of  both  sorrow  and  resentment 
in  the  minds  of  his  people.  Several  hundred 
were  speedily  in  active  chase  of  the  savages. 
But  the  latter,  whom  Butler  soon  overtook, 
knew  the  lurking  places  of  the  woods  too  well 
to  be  easily  captured.  For  several  days  they 
were  briskly  pursued.  But  they  finally  escaped, 
and  arrived  safe.,  with  their  worn-out  prisoner, 
after  a  perilous  and  toilsome  journey,  at  the 
chief  village  of  the  Mohawks,  where  the  tories 
had  formed  an  encampment. 

Oh!  Agnes,  unhappy  daughter  of  an  unfor 
tunate  father,  to  what  desolation  of  heart  wert 
thou  now  subjected!  What  horrors  did  thy  be 
reaved  and  fearful  spirit  imagine  to  be  the 
doom  of  thy  beloved  and  only  parent!  The 
vengeful  bitterness  and  capricious  cruelty  of 
the  savage  nature  were  well  known  to  thee  — 
and  was  thy  father  now  destined  to  endure 
them!  Was  his  aged  and  venerable  frame  to 
run  the  cruel  gauntlet,  and  sustain  the  scorn 
and  the  blows  of  Mohawk  ferocity?  Or  does 
thy  terrified  imagination  behold  the  blazing 
faggots,  and  the  stake  to  which  he  is  bound,  in 


118  THE  BETROTHED 

order  to  be  consumed,  amidst  the  shouting 
vengeance  of  exulting  fiends  in  the  shape  of 
men?  Is  he  doomed  to  that  most  cruel  of  all 
deaths  to  which  savage  vengeance  is  accustom 
ed  to  devote  its  victims?  Art  thou,  in  thy  mis 
ery  of  mind,  capable  of  enduring  the  terrible 
thought?  Or  hast  thou  consolation?  Does 'hope 
whisper  any  solace  to  thy  heart?  Dost  thou 
listen  to  the  suggestions  of  comfort?  Dost  thou 
not  rather  repel  them  as  fallacious,  and  beg  thy 
comforters  to  depart — to  leave  thee  to  silence — 
to  sorrow — to  hopelessness — to  despair!  No; 
— although  thy  grief  is  intense — almost  too 
great  for  thy.,  tender  frame  to  endure,  thou  art 
a  Christian,  and  wilt  not  harbour  thoughts  of 
despair.  Thy  spirit  is  too  strongly  imbued 
with  the  pious  principles  which  thy  father 
taught  thee,  to  question  the  designs  of  Heaven 
in  inflicting  calamities,  or  to  murmur  at  the 
rod  of  chastisement  although  it  pierces  thee  to 
the  heart.  There  is  a  Rock  of  comfort  to  which 
he,  for  whom  thou  grievest,  taught  thee  to  look 
for  support  under  every  affliction.  And  thou 
rememberest  his  instructions — thou  lookest  to 
the  God  of  Christians  for  support  in  thy  be 
reavement — for  solace  in  thy  sorrow,  and  for 
deliverance  from  thy  affliction!  Hence  thou 
wilt  not  listen  to  the  suggestions  of  despair. 
Thou  art  sick,  and  sorrowful,  and  wretched — 


OF  WYOMING.  119 

thou  canst  not  help  suffering,  but  thou  sufferest 
with  piety — with  meekness  and  resignation. 

The  unrepining  but  intense  grief  of  Agnes, 
although  it  could  not  overcome  the  strength  of 
her  mind,  overpowered  that  of  her  body. 
Sickness  seized  upon  her.  A  strong  fever  ran 
through  her  veins,  and  prostrated  her  strength. 
The  solicitude  with  which  Dr.  Watson  attend 
ed  to  a  patient  so  beloved  may  be  readily  ima 
gined. '  His  sister,  her  faithful  friend,  now 
became  her  anxious  and  diligent  nurse.  She 
made  her  abode  with  her,  and  her  assiduous 
cares  and  judicious  counsels  contributed  much 
both  to  mitigate  her  fever  and  fco  shorten  its 
duration.  Her  recovery,  however,  was  chiefly 
owing  to  intelligence  contained  in  the  follow 
ing  letter,  which  she  received  about  a  week  af 
ter  the  capture  of  her  father,  from  the  author  of 
the  outrage. 

"This  letter  is  written  by  a  man  you  hate; 
yet  you  will  receive  it  with  satisfaction.  With 
satisfaction  do  I  write  it,  because  it  will  give 
pleasure  to  the  woman  I  love — the  only  wo 
man  I  ever  loved.  It  pleases1  me  also  to  think 
that  the  characters  I  now  trace  will  be  perused 
by  you — will  be  gazed  upon  by  those  eyes 
which  have  struck  the  fire  of  love  into  my 
soul. — But  I  hasten  to  communicate  the  cir 
cumstance  which  is  the  object  of  my  writing, 


120  THE  BETROTHED 

and  which  alone  will  make  my  letter  accepta 
ble. — Your  father  lives — he  is  well  treated — 
and,  for  your  sake,  until  I  hear  from  you,  I 
shall  secure  to  him  a  continuance  of  good  treat 
ment. 

"Believe  me  this  will  not  be  an  easy  task. 
What  I  have  already  done  for  him,  has  en 
countered  much  opposition.  The  half  Indian 
Brandt, — he  who  escaped  from  the  attack  upon 
you,  which  afforded  me  the  first  occasion  of  be 
holding  your  loveliness,  and  of  rendering  you 
some  service, — has  not  forgotten  that  he  was 
once  a  prisoner  in  your  village.  He  is  invet- 
erately  hostile  to  all  your  people.  He  will  go 
any  length,  he  will  submit  to  any  hardship,  he 
will  expose  himself  to  any  danger,  he  will  com 
mit  any  crime  to  be  revenged  on  the  feeblest 
and  most  innocent  among  you.  I  had  to  sooth 
and  conciliate  him,  and  make  even  humiliating 
concessions  to  him,  ere  I  could  obtain  his  for 
giveness  for  the  part  I  acted  in  your  rescue. 
His  knowledge  of  the  breach  between  your 
people  and  me,  and  an  assurance  that  we  arc 
now  irreconcilable  enemies,  tended  to  mollify 
him;  my  influence  among  the  royalists  whom 
he  views  as  necessary  instruments  of  his  re 
venge;  procured  for  me  his  respect,  and,  in 
some  measure,  his  confidence;  and  my  proposal 


• 


OF  WYOMING.  121 

to  join  him  in  the  late  attempt  to  carry  you  off, 
has  attached  him  entirely  to  my  interests. 

"It  was  you  I  wanted,  my  love,  and  not 
your  father.  But  when,  from  our  lurking 
place,  we  discovered  him  to  be  with  you,  the 
Indians  proposed  to  seize  both,  and  I  made  no 
objection.  I  was  rather  pleased  with  the  cir 
cumstance.  My  passion  for  you  is  vehement. 
I  know  your  aversion  to  me.  Your  father  be 
ing  in  my  hands,  might  afford  me  the  power  of 
working  on  your  mind,  so  as  to  gain  your  con 
sent  to  become  mine.  I  now  lament  the  cir 
cumstance  of  your  father  being  present.  I  have 
no  ill-will  towards  him.  I  wish  no  harm  to 
befall  him.  His  being  with  you  occasioned  the 
failure  of  my  great  object  to  secure  you.  It 
drew  the  attention  of  the  Indians  from  you.  I 
thought  my  own  strength  sufficient  to  bear  you 

off.     It  would  have  been  so,  had  I  not  been  de- 

' 

sirous  to  effect  my  purpose  with  as  little  harsh 
ness  as  possible.  I  refrained  from  stifling  your 
cries  by  force.  I  even  indulged  you  by  relax 
ing  my  speed  when  we  left  the  orchard,  for  I 
wished  to  show  you  that  you  would  be  treated 
tenderly.  That  relaxation  ruined  the  whole 
project.  You  renewed  your  cries.  Your  friend 
approached.  I  knew  not  how  many  might  be 
following  him.  1  cursed  my  ill-starred  fate, 


• 


122  THE  BETROTHED 

and  to   avoid    instant   destruction,  abandoned 
you. 

"I  have  gained  something,  however,  by  the 
enterprise.  Yaur  father  is  my  prisoner.  I  see 
my  advantage  in  this,  and  I  am  determined  to 
profit  by  it.  Let  the  irresistible  nature  of  my 
love  for  you  excuse  my  design.  Your  father 
must  be  my  instrument  to  gain,  or  if  the  ex 
pression  must  be  used,  to  extort,  your  consent 
to  my  wishes.  I  have  already  stated  that  I 
have  protected  him  from  injury.  I  have  claim 
ed  him  from  the  savages  as  my  own  prisoner. 
I  have  preserved  him  from  the  torments  of 
their  cruel  customs.  I  have  saved  him  from 
the  humiliation  and  blows  of  the  gauntlet,  and 
from  the  fiery  horrors  of  the  stake.  Do  I  not 
merit  recompense  for  this?  Will  you  not  be 
grateful?  Will  you  not  attribute  my  exertions — 
for  to  do  these  things  required  exertions — to 
the  ardour  of  my  love?  I  would  restore  him  to 
liberty,  but  my  power  over  you  would  be  then 
lost.  No;  I  must  have  you.  My  conceptions 
of  happiness  are  so  entirely  wrought  up  with 
the  idea^of  possessing  you,  that  I  swear  to 
you,  I  shall  stop  short  of  no  effort  that  circum 
stances  may  put  in  my  power,  to  obtain  that 
great  good  for  which  I  so  passionately  long.  I 
disdain  every  other  luxury — I  disdain  mirth 
and  exhilaration — nay,  I  disdain  reputation  and* 


«*     ' 

OF  WYOMING.  123 

power — I  would  disdain  life  itself  but  for  the 
hope  that  it  may  last  till  you  have  blest  me- with 
your  charms. 

"Hear  now  my  purpose.     Your  father's  fate 
is  in  my  hands.    It  is  in  yours.    Your  conduct  t  A^ 
to  me  shall  regulate  mine  to  him.     Let  me 
know  your  resolves,  and  let  me  know  them 
soon.    The  aspect  of  the  times  will  admit  of  no 
delay.     I  enclose  a  safe-conduct  for  any  mes 
senger  you  may  send  me.     Should  you  decide 
on  coming  here  to  see  your  father,  and  to  be 
mine,  it  will  be  prudent  to  communicate  your 
design  to  me  privately,  lest  the  people  among 
whom  you  live,  should  prevent  its  accomplish 
ment.      Your  messenger  will  hear  of  me  at  the 
wigwam  of  Aranooko.      If  he  comes  not  soon, 
I  shall  not  expect  him  at  all.   Fierce  and  prompt 
measures  shall  then  be  adopted,  and  remember 
who  is  in  my  power.     Oh!  drive  me  not,  thou 
most  fascinating  of  thy  sex,  to  the  adoption  of 
measures  that  may  sink  thee  into  affliction,  that 
humanity  may  deplore,  that  I  myself  may  view 
with  horror!  If  thou  refusest  to  make  me  hap 
py,  most  solemnly  do  I  swear  to  make  thou 
sands  miserable.     Arouse  not  my  energies  to 
do  mischief,  or  terribly,  on  all  whom  thou  dost 
love,  will  I  revenge  thy  hatred  of  me. 

JOHN  BUTLER." 


124  THE  BETROTHEI' 

What  a  diversity  of  feelings  did  this  lettei 
excite  in  the  bosom  of  Agnes?  With  what  con 
tending  emotions  d'ud  it  agitate  her  whole  frame? 
Her  immediate  sorrow  was  relieved.  Her  fa 
ther  was  alive — was  safe.  How  earnestly  did 
she  rejoice — how  ardently  did  she  thank  Hea 
ven!  But  how  long  should  he  be  safe?  That 
depended  upon  her  determination.  Cruel  con 
sideration!  She  could  not,  she  dared  not  com 
ply  with  the  terms  on  which  her  father  would 
be  spared.  Her  love  was  given,  her  faith  was 
sworn,  her  hand  was  BETROTHED — to  another. 
She  could  not  be  Butler's  without  being  faith 
less  and  perjured.  To  save  her  father  she  would 
cheerfully  die;  but  could  she  wrong  her  soul?. 
Could  she  become  a  bold  offender  against  Hea 
ven  and  subject  herself  to  perdition? — No,  no 
— her  father  himself  would  shudder  at  the 
thought.  She  must  reject  the  dreadful  alterna 
tive,  be  the  consequence  what  it  would.  To 
Mary  Watson  she  showed  the  letter,  and  ex 
plained  her  perplexities,  and  from  her  she  re 
quested  counsel. 

"  Heaven  be  praised,"  she  said,  "my  father 
is  alive;  and  he  has  not  been  tortured.  But 
how  shall  I  save  him  from  the  perils  with 
which  he  is  threatened.  Oh!  my  friend,  thy 
judgment  is  clear — counsel  me  what  I  shall 
do!" 


OP  WYOMING.  125 

"Thy  situation  is,  indeed,  perplexing,"  said 
Miss  Watson,  "  what  counsel  to  give  it  is  dif 
ficult  to  determine.  Concession  to  the  demands 
of  this  ^vicked  man  cannot  be  thought  of.  To 
refuse  him  entirely  might  be  to  seal  thy  father's 
fate.  To  defer  making  any  reply  to  his  letter 
might  gain  time  for  the  occurrence  of  some  fa 
vourable  event.  But  that  is  uncertain;  and  he 
threatens  harshness  in  case  of  delay.  To  de 
ceive  him  by  a  feigned  and  conditional  compli 
ance,  would  be  the  safest  course;  but  would  it 
be  proper?  Would  it  be  justifiable?  These  are 
questions  which  require  a  clearer  judgment  than 
mine,  to  resolve." 

"Alas!"  said  Agnes,  "in  what  a  situation 
am  I  placed,  when  the  least  unhappy  alterna 
tive  for  me  to  adopt  is  deception!" 

"But  it  is  deception  to  prevent  cruelty  and 
crime,"  observed  Miss  Watson,  "and  decep 
tion  too  that  will  injure  no  one.  Does  this  not 
argue  something  in  its  favour?" 

"I  would  fain  reconcile  my  conscience  to  its 
adoption  in  this  instance,  "said  Agnes,  "but 
I  cannot.  The  motive  for  the  imposition  may 
be  laudable.  But  still  it  would  be  imposition. 
It  would  be  promising  to  do  that  which  I  am 
resolved  not  to  do — Oh,  Mary  Watson,  would 
you  advise  me  to  be  guilty  of  falsehood?" 

"  I  am,  indeed,  bewildered  on  the  subject," 
L2 

' 

. 


126  THE  BETROTHED 

replied  Miss  Watson.  "Anxiously  do  I  wis): 
for  the  adoption  of  some  means  to  preserve  youi 
father, — and  I  can  see  no  other  than  your  con 
senting  to  deceive  the  wicked  man.irfto  whose 
power  he  has  fallen.  Yet,  I  acknowledge,  the 
idea  of  yo.ur  committing  a  deliberate  falsehood, 
is  a  painful  one.  It  would  be  truly  desirable 
to  avoid  it.  Perhaps  my  brother  may  be  able 
to  suggest  some  means  of  extricating  you  out 
of  this  difficulty." 

"I  should  like  to  consult  him,"  said  Agnes. 
"  His  wisdom  may  point  out  the  correct  course 
for  me  to  steer.  On  his  friendship  for  aid  in 
my  present  distress,  I  implicitly  rely,  and  I  feel 
that  I  do  not  rely  in  vain." 

A  message  was  despatched  for  Dr.  Watson, 
and  he  was  soon  in  the  presence  of  Agnes. 
When  he  heard  her  statement,  "Thank  Pro 
vidence,"  said  he, — "they  have  not  murdered 
your  father!  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope. 
Butler  must,  if  possible,  be  kept  in  uncertainty 
respecting  your  determination.  Peremptorily 
to  reject  his  terms  might  be  fatal  to  your  father. 
You  must  write  soothingly — but  let  me  reflect 
— before  you  write,  I  will  consult  a  friend 
whose  counsel  and  whose  aid,  if  any  man's  can, 
will  serve  us  on  this  occasion.  He  is  at  present 
in  our  village." 

He  withdrew,  and  returned  in  about  a  quar- 


• 


OF  WYOMING.  127 

ter  of  an  hour,  with  the  Hermit  of  the  woods. 
"My  daughter,"  said  the  Hermit,  "I  respect 
your  scruples.  Whether  they  be,  in  this  in 
stance,  overstrained  or  not,  I  would  have  you 
for  ever  to  cherish  them.  They  are  valuable 
proofs  of  upright  feelings — precious  marks  of 
a  pure  mind.  Yet,  commendable  as  this  rigid 
adherence  to  literal  veracity,  under  all  circum 
stances,  is,  in  our  course  through  life,  we  may 
often  find  the  exercise  of  contrivance  and  strata 
gem  requisite  for  self*preservation;  and  to  use 
artifice  against  the  deceitful  must  be  sometimes 
allowable.  It  is  but  meeting  them  with  .their 
own  weapons.'  To  use  it  against  such  a  dark 
and  depraved  dissembler  as  Butler,  and,  as  in 
the  present  case,  for  the  purpose  of  preserving 
the  life  of  a  virtuous  man,  can  hardly  be  con 
sidered  wrong.  But  since  you  have  scruples  on 
the  subject,  you  do  well  to  hearken  to  them. 
They  proceed  from  correct  principles;  and  so 
long  as  they  regulate  your  conduct,  you  will 
not  be  likely  to  go  astray. — If  you  will  commit 
to  me  the  management  of  this  affair,  I  will  en 
deavour  to  effect  the  preservation  of  your  father, 
without  obliging  you  to  offend  against  your 
conscience.  You  are  betrothed  to  another. 
You  cannot  promise  yourself  to  Butler,  with 
out  speaking  a  wilful  untruth.  Yet  on  such  a 
promise  the  safety  of  your  father  seems  to  de- 


THE  BETROTHED 

pentl.  Fear  not,  my  child; — adhere  to  the 
strict  principles  of  integrity  which  are  the 
foundation  of  your  virtuous  scruples.  The  con 
sciousness  of  doing  so  will  be  an  unfailing  so 
lace  in  every  trial.  I  will  exert  myself  in 
behalf  of  your  father.  Will  you  trust  to  my 
efforts?" 

"You  have  spoken  comfort  to  my  heart/' 
she  replied.  "Not  only  will  I  trust  you,  but 
my  thanks  and  my  prayers  shall  attend  your 
generous  efforts.  Save  my  father,  and  the  jus 
tice  of  Heaven  will  reward  you:  it  will  be  a 
deed  beyond  the  power  of  man  to  reward!" 

The  Hermit  departed;  and  Agnes  full  of  con 
fidence  in  the  success  of  his  exertions,  soon 
threw  off  the  despondency  which  had  weighed 
so  heavily  upon  her,  and  bloomed  once  more 
in  renewed  health  and  recovered  spirits. 


OF  WYOMING.  129 


CHAPTER  X. 


'.ihuukl  simplicity  be  opposed  to  cunning,  and  openness  of  heart  to 
deep  guilt?  As  well  might  we  oppose  the  lamb  to  the  fox,  or  tin 
trembling  fawn  to  the  crouching  tiger.  No;  let  snares  be  set  for  the 
deceiver,  and  let  the  deviser  of  fraud  fall  into  his  own  pit.  So  shall 
honesty  triumph  over  baseness,  and  wisdom  show  herself  stronger 
than  fraud.— Talmud. 


Although  the  Hermit  approved  of  the  scru 
ples  of  Agnes  on  the  subject  of  deception,  and 
encouraged  her  to  persevere,  on  all  occasions, 
in  a  system  of  strict  veracity,  yet  the  moral 
code  which  he  prescribed  for  himself  was  not 
quite  so  rigid.  Injurious  or  even  unnecessary 
untruths  he  detested.  Such,  he  conceived,  could 
never  come  but  from  a  corrupt  source.  But  he 
had  great  knowledge  of  human  nature — of  its 
condition  in  this  life — its  liability  to  be  affected 
by  circumstances  which  it  cannot  control,  and 
which  frequently  change  its  position  in  respect 
to  abstract  morality,  rendering  the  obligations 
of  the  latter  more  or  less  incumbent,  according 
to  events  and  situations.  He  had  often  been 
witness  of  alternatives  which  left  only  a  choice 
of  crimes.  To  choose  the  least  was  assuredly 
then  the  duty,  and  he  who  did  so  was,  in  his 
opinion,  entitled  to  praise  instead  of  censure. 

"To  destroy  the  life  of  another  in  self- 
defence,"  he  reasoned,  "has  never  been  con- 


130  THE  BETROTHED 

sidered  immoral.  Neither  is  it  thought  im 
moral  to  break  a  promise  or  even  an  oath 
which  is  enforced  by  the  fear  of  violence.  How 
then  can  it  be  criminal  to  dissuade  a  ruffian 
from  the  commission  of  murder  by  communi 
cating  to  him  information  which  is  known  to 
be  untrue?  What  is,  in  most  other  cases,  a 
crime,  becomes  here  a  virtue..  It  is  used  as  an 
instrument  of  goodj  and  to  forbear  the  use  of  it, 
when  it  is  found  that  no  other  instrument  will 
answer  the  purpose,  is  to  omit  doing  the  good, 
and  to  participate  in  the  enormous  guilt  which 
the  omission  permits  to  take  place." 

If  such  were  the  Hermit's  views,  why  did  he 
not  counsel  Agnes  to  save  her  father  by  deceiv 
ing  Butler?  His  motives  were  various.  Truth 
is,  at  aft  times  beautiful,  and  rarely  indeed,  is 
a  breach  of  it  commendable.  To  accustom 
young  and  ingenuous  minds,  therefore,  to  rev 
erence  it  at  all  times,  and  to  ward  off  from  their 
experience,  as  much  as  possible,  any  occurrence 
that  might  justify  deception,  is  to  consult  their 
welfare  by  strengthening  their  integrity.  For 
this  reason,  the  Hermit  did  not  wish  Agnes  to 
diverge  from  the  direct  line  of  truth  even  for  a 
good  purpose,  when  that  purpose  might  b« 
otherwise  obtained,  which  he  believed  it  might 
by  his  own  agency.  Besides,  he  was  a  believer 
in  the  doctrine  of  the  impulses  of  conscience 


OP  WYOMING.  131 

being  the  criterion  of  good  or  evil  actions.  • 
The  scruples  of  Agnes,  proved  that  in  practis 
ing  the  proposed  deception,  she  would  have 
acted  against  the  dictates  of  her  conscience, 
and,  therefore,  in  his  view,  would  have  been 
criminal.  Should  he  find  deception  to  be  ne 
cessary  to  save  Mr.  Norwood,  he  had  no  scru 
ples  against  using  it  himself.  In  such  a  case  he 
would  experience  no  compunction,  while  he 
would  save  a  young  female  whom  he  esteemed, 
from  doing  what  might  afterwards  inflict  upon 
her  the  pangs  of  remorse.  In  short,  whether 
the  Hermit's  reasoning  on  this  subject  was  right 
or  wrong,  it  will  be  admitted  that  his  intentions 
and  conduct  were  benevolent.  He  had  in  view 
two  schemes  for  the  delivery  of  Mr.  Norwood. 
The  first  was  to  use  an  agent  whom  he  could 
instruct  in  a  certain  stratagem  which  might  ef 
fect  the  purpose,  and  thereby  obviate  the  neces 
sity  of  himself  appearing  on  the  scene  and 
deceiving  Butler  in  relation  to  Agnes;  an  alter 
native  which  he  wished  to  avoid,  but  if  found 
necessary,  he  was  resolved  to  adopt." 

On  leaving  Agnes  he  proceeded  to  the  resi 
dence  of  a  young  man  named  Joseph  Jennings. 
Joseph,  though  rugged  in  his  manners,  possess 
ed  a  warm  heart,  and  was  devotedly,  or  rather 
superstitiously,  attached  to  Mr.  Norwood, 
whose  clerical  character  he  esteemed  as  the  per- 


132  THE  BETROTHED 

fection  of  human  excellence,  and  whose  abduc 
tion  he  conceived  to  be  a  sacrilegious  crime 
that  could  not  fail  to  be  visited  by  the  vengeance 
of  Heaven.  Joseph  was  stout,  active  and  fear 
less.  From  his  earliest  youth  h'e  had  been  a 
hunter  of  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest,  and  was, 
in  consequence,  acquainted  with  every  hill  and 
valley,  defile  and  cavern,  river,  swamp  and  lake, 
in  the  whole  of  the  broad  region  that  lies  be 
tween  the  two  great  branches  of  the  Susque- 
hanna.  He  possessed  also  that  quick  and 
shrewd  conception,  which,  when  found  among 
the  uneducated  classes  of  mankind,  is  more  ob 
servable,  perhaps  because  less. expected,  than 
when  found  among  those  who  have  had  better 
|Ki  opportunities  of  mental  cultivation  and  intel 
lectual  improvement. 

It  was  with  the  aid  of  this  youth  that  the 
Hermit  proposed  to  effect  the  deliverance  of 
Mr.  Norwood;  and  he  found  him  a  ready  and 
zealous  auxiliary  in  the  enterprise.  He  accom 
panied  him  to  a  cavern  about  ten  miles  distant 
from  the  residence  of  the  sachem  Aranooko,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  which  Mr.  Norwood  was 
confined  under  the  immediate  surveillance  of 
Butler  himself.  From  this  cavern,  Joseph  pro 
ceeded  alone  on  the  enterprise.  He  had  re 
ceived  instructions  from  the  Hermit  in  relation 
to  the  measures  he  should  adopt.  He  pushed 


OP  WYOMING.  133 

forward  boldly  with  a  resolution  to  act  the  roy 
alist  to  the  heart's  content  of  the  tories,  who 
had  on  the  detection  of  their  conspiracy,  fled,  in 
great  numbers,  from  the  Wyoming  settlements, 
to  the  country  occupied  by  the  Mohawks,  near 
the  chief  village  of  which  they  had  formed  an 
encampment.  Joseph  entered  this  encampment 
singing,  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  "  God  save  the 
king."  His  hunting  pursuits,  by  keeping  him 
at  a  distance  from  society,  had  prevented  his 
political  predilections,  which  were  decidedly 
whig,  from  being  generally  known.  It  was, 
therefore,  not  doubted  but  that  he  was  sincere 
in  his  present  manifestations  of  loyalty;  and 
that,  as  he  now  pretended,  he  had  fled  from  the 
threats  of  the  Wyoming  whigs,  to  seek  shelter 
among  men  whose  sentiments  were  more  in 
accordance  with  his  own.  He  was  soon  intro 
duced  to  Butler,  furnished  with  arms  at  the 
expense  of  king  George,  and  enrolled  among 
the  faithful  defenders  of  his  majesty's  crown 
and  government. 

Joseph  knew  the  value  of  time,  and  was  no 
laggard  on  an  errand  of  importance.  He  soon 
discovered  the  tent  in  which  Mr.  Norwood 
was  confined.  He  had  some  slight  acquaint 
ance  with  the  sentinel  placed  over  the  reverend 
captive  for  that  evening.  It  was  late  in  the 
evening  when  Joseph  approached  this  sentinel 
M 


134  THE  BETROTHED 

in  a  seemingly  careless  manner,  with  a  flask  of 
rum  in  his  hand.  He  tipt  him  a  jovial  wink, 
and  offered  to  treat  him.  Good  humour  is  al 
ways  infectious,  especially  when  good  fare  is 
offered  with  it.  Joseph's  was  at  this  time  irre 
sistible  to  the  sentinel,  who  willingly  pledged 
him  in  a  bumper,  which  was  soon  repeated; 
and  Joseph  seated  himself  on  a  log  beside  his 
sociable  companion  and  began  to  talk  of  the 
times. 

"When  do  you  think,  Ephraim,"  said  he, 
"we  shall  have  to  fight  the  whigs?  I  guess 
when  we  muster  our  forces,  Indians  and  all, 
they  wont  stand  us  long." 

"The  time  of  marching  will  be  fixed  to 
morrow,"  said  Ephraim. 

"Who  fixes  it?"  inquired  Joseph. 

"The  Indian  chiefs  are  to  hold  a  council  for 
the  purpose,"  replied  Ephraim,  "  and  our 
leaders  are  to  assist  at  their  deliberations.'" 
Another  glass,  drank  to  the  success  of  their  en 
terprise,  followed  this  information. 

"How  does  the  old  preacher  stand  his  con 
finement?"  asked  Joseph. 

"  He  seems  patient  enough  under  it,"  an 
swered  Ephraim. 

"Is  he  well  treated?"  inquired  Joseph. 

"Pretty  well  as  yet,"  was  the  reply.  "But 
he  is  not  likely  to  be  much  longer  indulged  as 


OF  WYOMING.  135 

he  has  been.  Butler  and  he  have  had  a  violent 
quarrel  to-day." 

"How? — but  no  matter,"  said  Joseph.  "It 
is  none  of  our  concern,  you  know.  Here 
Ephraim,  another  glass  to  the  success  of  the 
right  side.  This  empties  the  flask." 

"The  more's  the  pity,"  said  Ephraim, 
again  partaking  of  Joseph's  spiritual  kindness, 
the  effects  of  which  on  his  intellects  had  now 
become  visible. 

"Did  you  hear  nothing  of  the  cause  of  their 
dispute?"  asked  Joseph.  "Cause! — hie — darn 
the  cause!  Guess  it  was  politics — Care  nothing 
about  it — hie-up — darn  this  sentry  duty — curse 
the  rebels!  hie — they  give  so  much  trouble — 
hie-up." 

Joseph,  who  perceived  that  his  friend,  whose 
notions  of  military  discipline  were  not  very  or 
thodox,  had  got  into  the  delectable  care-for- 
nobody  state  which  suited  his  design,  proposed 
to  relieve  him  for  a  short  time  of  his  irksome 
duty,  by  assuming  it  in  his  stead. 

"If  Butler  or  Bateman — hie-up — finds  that 
I  have  left  my  post — hie" — muttered  Ephraim. 
But  without  finishing  the  sentence,  his  ideas 
took  another  turn,  and  he  exclaimed,  "Darn 
them,  what  care  I  for  them.  I'm  as  good  a 
man  as  any  of  them.  I  am  for  king  George — 
hie-up!  Guess  I'll  have  a  frolic.  Some  of  the 


136  THE  BETROTHED 

boys  are  carousing  in  Josh.  Juggles's  tent! 
Keep  my  post  for  half  an  hour — bravo!  darn  it 
— now  for  spree!  hie-up!"  And  away  Ephraim 
staggered  in  pursuit  of  jollity  and  rum,  leaving 
Joseph  in  possession  of  the  premises. 

Joseph's  difficulty,  however,  was  not  yet 
over.  The  tent  contained  more  inmates  than 
Mr.  Norwood.  Butler  himself  and  two  or  three 
other  royalists  were  its  inhabitants.  It  is  true, 
from  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  eleven  o'clock 
at  night,  the  presumption  was  that  they  were 
asleep;  but  that  presumption  was  the  same  in 
regard  to  Mr.  Norwood.  Besides,  Joseph 
knew  not  which  bed  was  occupied  by  the  latter 
gentleman,  and  he  might  awake  some  other 
person  in  his  stead.  He  had  a  bold  heart, 
however,  and  he  resolved  to  make  an  effort  to 
effect  his  design,  trusting  to  some  favourable 
circumstance,  and  his  own  dexterity  for  success. 
He  cautiously  entered  the  tent,  and  perceived 
by  means  of  a  dim  lamp  that  flickered  in  one 
corner,  three  beds  spread  on  the  floor,  two  of 
which  apparently  contained  more  than  one  in 
dividual.  In  the  third  which  was  the  farthest 
from  the  entrance,  he  conjectured  there  was 
but  one  person,  whom  from  the  appearance  of 
an  article  of  dress  which  lay  upon  it,  he  be 
lieved  to  be  the  object  of  his  solicitude.  Joseph, 
while  he  supplied  Ephraim  so  liberally  with 


OF  WYOMING.  137 

the  rum,  had  taken  care  to  use  it  very  sparingly 
himself,  so  that  he  was  in  possession  of  all  his 
faculties,  with  perhaps  a  little  elevation  of 
courage  suited  to  the  occasion. 

He  approached  the  bed  which  he  believed 
to  contain  Mr.  Norwood;  but  he  was  mistaken. 
It  contained  Butler  himself,  who  was  in  a  sound 
sleep.  He  examined  the  other  dormitories, 
but  was  greatly  chagrined  to  find  that  the  ob 
ject  of  his  search  was  in  neither  of  them.  He 
was  retiring  very  reluctantly  and  with  much 
mortification,  when  he  heard  a  cough  which  he 
thought  was  familiar  to  his  ear,  and  perceived 
the  movement  of  a  curtain  which  he  had  before 
mistaken  for  part  of  the  enclosure  of  the  tent. 
He  was  also  agreeably  surprised  at  seeing  the 
curtain  drawn  aside,  and  the  well-known  coun 
tenance  of  his  reverend  friend  looking  at  him. 
He  hastily  motioned  to  Mr.  Norwood  to  pre 
serve  silence,  and  to  follow  him.  Mr.  Nor 
wood  knew  Joseph  well,  and  instantly  compre 
hended  his  intention. 

11  This  is  a  providential  interference" — 
thought  he — "I  will  avail  myself  of  it." 

He  beckoned  to  Joseph  that  he  understood 
him  and  would  follow.  Joseph  immediately 
withdrew,  and,  in  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Nor 
wood  joined  him  outside  of  the  tent;  a  few  more 
carried  them  into  a  part  of  the  woods  which 
M2 


If  ;.  THE  BETROTHED 

1  .dually  secured  them  from  detection.— 
•  rough  the  intricacies  of  the  forest,  there 
ild  not  be  a  better  guide  than  Joseph,  and 
v  the  next  morning  he  conducted  his  ven- 
t.%f  e  protegee  into  the  cavern  where  he  had 
the  oay  previous  left  the  Hermit  of  the  woods. 
In  three  or  four  days  more,  Mr.  Norwood  re 
ceived  the  embraces  of  his  pious  and  affection 
ate  daughter,  and  the  heart-felt  congratulations 
of  all  the  people  of  Wyoming. 


OF 


CHAPTER  XL 


The  council  meets,  and  vengeance  is  decreed;— 
War's  demon  is  unchained,  and  blood-shot  rage 
Whets  his  fierce  appetite,  and  spurs  his  steed 
To  the  death-revelling  field,  the  strife  to  wage, 
Where  innocence  as  well  as  guilt  shall  bleed; 
But,  if  he  can  with  human  suffering  feed 
His  fell  voracity  for  mortal  wo, 
He  cares  not;— let  the  weapon  but  succeed, 
To  him  no  matter  who  endures  the  blow, 
The  wound  it  makes  shall  cause  the  demon's  joy  to  glow! 

Karley. 


No  demon  of  wrath  could  exhibit  more  fury 
than  did  Butler  on  discovering  that  his  impor 
tant  prisoner  had  escaped.  The  sentinel  whose 
neglect  of  duty  had  occasioned  this  mischance, 
was  brought  trembling  into  his  presence.  In 
vain  did  he  acknowledge  his  crime  and  implore 
pardon.  In  vain  did  he  plead  that  he  had  been 
deceived  by  one  who  had  deceived  Butler  him 
self — one  who  had  that  very  day  been  enrolled 
among  the  king's  friends,  and  seemed  particu 
larly  zealous  for  the  royal  cause.  Poor  Eph- 
raim  was  handed  over  to  some  tory  officers  who 
formed  themselves  into  a  species  of  court  mar 
tial,  for  the  purpose  of  trying  him  for  his  of 
fence.  As  strict  discipline  was,  as  yet,  far 
from  being  properly  established  among  the  tory 
bands  that  now  rallied  round  the  standard  of 
Butler,  and  as  there  was  some  danger  of  excit- 


140  THE  BETROTHED 

Ing  discontent  in  their  ranks,  if  Ephraim  should 
be  punished  too  severely,  he  was  merely  sen 
tenced  to  be  first  publicly  reprimanded,  and 
afterwards  exposed  in  an  open  space  in  the  cen 
tre  of  the  encampment,  with  his  legs  confined 
in  a  wooden  frame  resembling  stocks,  for 
twenty  four  hours.  Butler  was  greatly  dissat 
isfied  with  the  lenity  of  this  sentence;  but  re 
flecting  that  too  much  harshness  might  shake 
his  popularity  among  a  body  of  men  who  were 
not  yet  accustomed  to  subordination,  he  ac 
quiesced.  He,  however,  determined  to  urge 
forward,  with  all  speed,  the  measures  that 
were  in  preparation  for  an  attack  upon  the  set 
tlements  of  Wyoming. 

In  expectation  of  being  able,  by  means  of 
her  father,  to  constrain  Agnes  to  comply  with 
his  wishes,  he  had  for  some  few  days  past  ra 
ther  contributed  to  retard  the  intended  enter 
prise,  that  he  might  have  time  to  effect  this 
purpose.  He  knew  the  filial  reverence  and 
strong  attachment  of  Agnes  for  her  father.  He 
considered  him,  therefore,  as  an  engine  in  his 
hands,  by  which,  with  proper  management,  he 
could  wield  her  determinations  as  he  pleased. 
He  had  written  to  her,  as  we  have  seen,  inform 
ing  her  that  her  father  should  receive  good  or 
bad  treatment,  according  as  she  complied  or 
not  with  his  wishes.  The  time  in  which,  ac- 


OP  WYOMING.  141 

cording  to  his  calculations  he  should  receive 
her  answer,  had  elapsed  on  the  day  of  Joseph 
Jennings'  arrival  at  the  tory  encampment.  No 
answer  had  arrived.  But  in  this  he  scarcely  felt 
disappointed.  He  was  too  well  aware  of  her 
aversion  to  him,  to  have  been  very  sanguine  in 
his  expectations  of  one,  at  least  one  satisfac 
tory  to  his  wishes.  He  considered  that  Agnes, 
knowing  her  father  to  be  himself  averse  to  her 
connexion  with  him,  might  suppose  that  her 
consent,  even  if  she  gave  it,  would  not  receive 
his  sanction.  To  remove  that  obstacle,  there-' 
fore,  he  determined  either  to  persuade  or  com 
pel  his  prisoner  to  exert  his  authority  over  her, 
and  to  write  desiring  her  to  yield  to  his  wishes. 
It  was  his  attempt  to  enforce  such  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Norwood,  that  occasioned  the  altercation 
between  them  to  which  the  sentinel  alluded  in 
his  conversation  with  Joseph  Jennings.  The 
firmness  of  Mr.  Norwood  highly  incensed  him, 
and  he  did  not  refrain  from  the  most  vehement 
threats  of  vengeance.  He,  in  fact,  determined 
to  commence  a  system  of  harshness  and  cruelty 
towards  his  prisoner,  which  he  doubted  not 
would  compel  him  to  purchase  forbearance  by 
compliance.  His  scheme,  however,  was  frus 
trated  by  the  event  we  have  related,  and,  with 
a  spirit  animated  to  the  utmost  fury  of  revenge 
against  all  the  whigs  of  Wyoming,  he  resolved 


142  THE  BETROTHED 

to  exert  his  whole  influence  in  hastening  for 
ward  the  expedition  now  planned  against 
them. 

A  great  council,  composed  of  the  Mohawk 
chiefs  and  the  tory  leaders,  was  held  the  day 
after  Mr.  Norwood's  escape.  This  was  the 
council  alluded  to  by  the  sentinel  Ephraim.  It 
convened  in  the  wigwam  of  Aranooko.  Its 
object  was  to  confirm  the  league  between  the 
Indians  and  the  royalists,  and  make  final  ar 
rangements  relative  to  the  marching  of  the  in 
tended  expedition  against  the  whigs  of  Wy 
oming. 

The  sachem  Aranooko  presided  at  this  assem 
bly. 

Around  the  council-fire  which  was  lighted  in 
the  centre  of  the  wigwam,  the  chiefs  and  leaders 
arranged  themselves.  The  calumet  was  smoked 
in  silence,  for  some  minutes,  and  the  cup  of 
hospitality  pledged,  in  token  of  amity  between 
the  parties.  Aranooko  then  addressed  the  tory 
leaders. 

"Brothers,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Hearken 
to  me.  The  council-fire  is  kindled  that  we  may 
converse  around  it.  The  smoke  of  our  calumets 
have  mingled,  and  we  are  united — the  festal 
cup  has  been  pledged,  and  we  are  friends. — 
Every  Mohawk  says,  let  it  be  for  ever.  Bro 
thers,  what  is  your  reply!" 


OP  WYOMING.  143 

"For  ever!"  answered  Butler  and  his  co- 
leagues. 

"Then  take  this  wampum,"  said  the  sa 
chem,  "and  let  the  treaty  be  confirmed.'7 

Butler  received  the  wampum,  and  presented 
Aranooko  with  a  handsome  military  sash  in  ex 
change. 

11  The  treaty  is  now  confirmed,"  continued 
Aranooko.  "We  are  now  the  allies  of  the 
great  king,  your  father,  whose  throne  is  fixed  in 
chambers  of  the  east — in  the  land  of  the  morn 
ing  sun.  Your  father  is  powerful.  He  is  at  a 
far  distance.  But  he  stretches  his  arm  across 
the  great  deep,  and  our  forests  tremble  at  his 
strength.  The  winds  of  heaven  have  blown  to 
this  land  the  travellers  of  the  sea  that  he  has 
sent  forth.  They  brought  thunder  with  them, 
they  shook  the  solidity  of  our  shores,  and  at 
the  glare  of  their  lightning,  heroes  have  turned 
pale.  Thus  mighty  is  your  father.  Yet  he  has 
children  in  this  land,  who  fear  not  his  power. 
They  have  united  in  strong  bands  against  his 
faithful  servants.  They  have  spoken  words  of 
defiance — They  have  committed  acts  of  rebel 
lion.  They  are  not  worthy  to  be  called  chil 
dren. 

"Brothers,  your  father  wants  to  chastise  his 
disobedient  children.  He  asks  us  to  aid  him, 


144  THE  BETROTHED 

and  offers  us  rich  rewards.  We  have  agreed  to 
his  terms.  Brothers,  hear  our  reasons. 

"  In  the  quarrel  between  your  father  and  his 
disobedient  children,  we  would  have  nothing  to 
do,  if  those  children  did  not  deserve  chastise 
ment  from  our  hands,  as  well  as  from  his.  They 
have  usurped  our  lands — they  have  driven  us 
from  our  hunting  grounds.  The  wigwams  of 
our  fathers  once  covered  the  fair  regions  of  the 
Merrimack,  the  Hudson,  the  Delaware,  and 
the  Susquehanna.  Where  are  now  those  dwell 
ings  of  the  brave?  They  have  vanished  like  the 
blossoms  that  are  beautiful  when  fanned  by  the 
gale  of  spring,  but  that  wither  and  fade  away 
when  the  fierce  summer  bursts  upon  them  with 
the  relentless  scorching  of  his  beams.  So  have 
our  people  faded  before  the  wrath  of  the  chil 
dren  of  your  father.  They  would  now  destroy 
him  also;  and  shall  we  not  help  to  avenge  his 
cause  and  our  own? 

"Brothers,  we  grieve  for  the  doom  of  our 
fathers.  The  recollection  of  their  sufferings, 
makes  our  hearts  ache.  You  invite  us  to  re 
venge  them.  Can  we  refuse?  When  we  look 
at  ourselves,  what  do  we  see?  The  persecuted 
remnants  of  a  mighty  people.  Our  race  was 
once  like  the  stars  of  the  heaven,  numerous  and 
bright  in  their  glorious  abodes — we  are  now 
like  the  glimmering  meteors  of  the  swamps  and 


OF  WYOMING.  145 

solitudes,  few  and  wandering,  scattered  by  the 
winds  of  night,  and  extinguished  by  the  beams 
of  day. 

"Brothers,  you  offer  us  vengeance.  Shall 
we  not  take  it  ?  Our  wrath  is  awakened — our 
strength  is  revived.  We  have  lifted  the  hatchet. 
We  pant  for  the  enemy.  Let  us  hasten  towards 
him,  that  we  may  scorch  him  with  the  fire  that 
burns  within  us. 

"Brothers  you  have  heard  me." 

Butler  now  rose  and  addressed  the  sachem. 

"Brother  and  chief,  thy  zeal  del-ights  me. 
The  spirit  that  animates  thee  is  worthy  of  the 
chief  of  the  gallant  Mohawks.  Thou  hast  not 
degenerated  from  thy  fathers,  and  thy  fathers 
were  heroes.  They  never  shrunk  from  battle, 
although  the  death-winged  thunder  of  artillery 
rolled  in  volumes  of  destruction  against  them. 
Their  hearts  were  invincible,  but  their  weapons 
were  not  formed  of  materials  to  combat  with 
the  deadly  hail  of  the  musketry,  or  the  fiery 
bolts  of  the  cannon  of  their  adversaries.  Yet 
they  would  not  submit  to  the  invaders.  They 
could  die  but  they  could  not  yield.  Hence 
were  they  swept  from  the  land. — Ye  are  now, 
brave  Mohawks,  in  the  stead  of  your  fathers. 
You  are  equally  heroic.  Their  spirits,  from 
their  abodes  in  the  land  of  bliss,  will  survey 
your  exploits  in  the  approaching  war  with  de- 

N 


146  THE  BETROTHED 

light.  They  will  say  to  each  other:  'Our  sons 
are  heroes — they  are  mindful  of  our  wrongs. 
See  how  they  avenge  us!' 

"Brother,  thou  hast  said  truly  that  our  fa 
ther,  the  great  king  beyond  the  ocean,  is  pow 
erful.  All  parts  of  the  world  have  seen  the 
glittering  of  his  arms,  and  heard  the  rolling  of 
his  thunder.  His  armies  have  conquered  con 
tinents,  and  his  navies  have  brought  the  islands 
into  subjection.  His  rebellious  children  in  this 
land,  could  soon  be  humbled  by  his  power,  and 
crushed  in  his  wrath;  but  they  have  sought  aid 
from  his  enemies,  and  have  unnaturally  thrown 
themselves  into  the  arms  of  those  who  envy 
the  power  of  their  parent.  Is  their  offence 
not  heinous?  Is  it  not  aggravated  beyond  en 
durance? 

"Brother,  those  same  disobedient  people  are 
your  enemies.  In  this  very  neighbourhood, 
they  have  usurped  the  lands  which  were  once 
yours,  and  they  have  given  you  no  equivalent 
for  the  possession.  The  pleasant  valleys  on 
the  Susquehanna  are  no  longer  yours.  They 
have  enclosed  fields,  built  villages,  and  erected 
strong-holds  on  your  hunting  grounds.  You  are 
expelled  from  the  heritage  of  your  ancestors. 
You  will  now  be  avenged;  you  will  soon  re 
possess  your  own.  Our  great  father,  the  king, 
invites  you  to  accept  of  his  assistance.  He 


OF  WYOMING.  .  147 

sends  you  arms  and  ammunition  equal  to  those 
possessed  by  your  enemies,  and  such  as  your 
fathers  never  had.  With  such  means  would 
your  fathers  not  have  conquered?  Would  they 
not  have  kept  possession  of  their  lands,  and 
transmitted  to  you  the  inheritance  of  a  great 
people?  Your  hearts  answer,  'yes.' 

"Brother,  you  wifl  do  no  less  than  your  fa 
thers  would  have  done.  We  will  lend  our  aid. 
We  will  go  forth  jointly  to  conquest  and  re 
venge.  We  will  avenge  the  wrongs  of  our  fa 
ther,  though  he  is  far  distant.  You  will  avenge 
those  of  your  long-suffering  race;  and  after  the 
wreaths  of  victory  shall  decorate  your  brows, 
you  will  resume  your  station  as  a  great  and  val 
iant  people. 

"  Brother,  shall  we  march  to-morrow?  In 
three  days  we  shall  be  upon  the  enemy.  We 
shall  take  them  by  surprise,  and  they  shall  be 
easily  overthrown. 

"Brother,  it  is  my  proposal  that  we  delay 
not,  lest  our  foes  receive  succour  and  be  in  a 
condition  to  give  powerful  battle  on  the  field, 
or  to  entrench  themselves  securely  in  their 
strong-holds. 

"•  Brother,  you  have  heard — what  say  you?" 

"  My  voice  is  for  marching  to-morrow  by 
the  dawn,"  said  Aranooko. 

(t  Father!"  said  Brandt,  addressing  the  sa- 


148  THE  BETROTHED 

chem,  "My  voice  is  the  same.  Shall  I  say 
that  now  the  wish  of  my  heart  is  accomplished, 
when  I  see  a  league  formed  against  the  spoilers 
of  our  people?  No,  until  I  behold  a  thousand  of 
their  scalps  hanging  around  our  wigwams,  I 
shall  not  say  so.  But,  father,  I  will  say  that  I 
rejoice  exceedingly  at  the  prospect  this  treaty 
holds  forth.  It  appears  to  me  as  the  dawn  of  a 
triumphant  and  glorious  day,  which  will  not  set 
until  my  soul  shall  be  satisfied  with  the  blood 
of  my  enemies. 

"  Father,  hear  me.  I  am  a  Mohawk.  When 
I  was  a  boy  some  of  my  companions  taunted 
me.  They  said  that  the  blood  of  the  pale-faced 
people  ran  in  my  veins — that  my  heart  sided 
with  the  race  of  my  father,  and  that  the  Mo 
hawks  should  not  confide  in  me.  I  then  vowed  to 
show  to  you  all  which  side  my  heart  preferred. 
Did  I  ever  spare  a  white  man  in  battleB  Did  I 
ever  show  mercy  to  a  white  prisoner?  If  so, 
let  my  mother's  race  disclaim  me.  But  ye  are 
all  witnesses  of  the  animosity  with  which  I 
have  pursued  the  white  race,  and  how  I  have 
endeavoured  to  avenge  the  injuries  they  have 
inflicted  on  my  red  brethren,  the  people  of  my 
mother. 

"  Father,  I  will  tell  you  the  reason.  My 
mother  was  tender  to  my  infancy.  She  cher 
ished,  she  fed,  she  clothed  me  in  my  helpless 


'Jk 


OF  WYOMING.  149 

years.  I  reverence  her  memory.  I  love  her 
people.  My  father  I  never  knew.  He  deserted 
me  when  I  was  feeble.  He  was  unnatural,  and 
left  me  to  the  protection  of  a  forsaken  woman. 
My  mother  had  been  his  friend  in  distress. 
She  nursed  him  in  his  sickness,  and  her  caresses 
relieved  the  anguish  of  his  mind.  He  was  un 
grateful.  He  was  more  unnatural  than  the 
rugged  bear  or  the  ferocious  panther.  They  do 
not  desert  their  young  when  it  is  helpless,  and 
leave  to  its  mother  the  sole  charge  of  providing 
for  it.  My  father  did  so.  Can  I  love  him? 
No;  I  grieve  that  my  frame  contains  any  por 
tion  of  his  blood.  For  his  sake  I  detest  his 
people. — Father,  on  my  own  account  I  detest 
them  also.  Have  they  not  maltreated  and  im 
prisoned  me,  because  I  resented  the  insult  of 
one  of  their  rude  tongues.  I  clove  him  down. 

£3  » 

I  should  have  been  applauded:  but  I  was  bound 
and  thrown  into  a  dark  cell.  My  heart  has 
panted  for  revenge!  I  demand  of  my  white 
brother,  that,  when  we  gain  the  victory,  he 
will  allow  me  a  thousand  scalps  of  the  prisoners 
over  whose  tortures  I  may  exult,  and  enjoy  a 
full  banquet  of  vengeance." 

"Let  our  white  brother  speak,"  said  Aran- 
ooko.  "Brandt  is  brave.  He  will  be  the 
leader  of  our  warriors*  He  will  deserve  his 
reward:." 


f. 


150  THE  BETROTHED 

"  I  know  the  bravery  of  Brandt,"  replied 
Butler.  "I  admire  his  zeal  in  behalf  of  his 
people.  His  desire  of  vengeance  upon  those 
who  have  injured  him,  is  natural.  I  will  not 
oppose  it  Let  it  have  its  full  swing  upon  the 
rebels  of  Wyoming.  There  are  but  two  or 
three  there  whom  I  would  save.  I  will  name 
them  to  Brandt  in  secret.  All  others  shall  be 
at  his  disposal.  Why  should  I  wish  to  pre 
serve  rebels? — Will  this  satisfy  my  brother?'' 

"I  am  satisfied,"  said  Brandt.  "There  is 
joy  in  my  heart.  I  will  have  vengeance  for 
the  bonds  that  fettered  my  limbs;  and  for  every 
hour  of  my  imprisonment  the  scalp  of  a  white 
man  shall  reward  me!" 

"Let  the  first  glance  of  the  sun  to-morrow 
upon  our  village,  be  the  signal  for  marching!" 
said  Aranooko. 

The  chiefs  signified  approbation,  and  the 
council  broke  up,  each  man  hastening  to  make 
arrangements  for  his  departure  the  next  morn 
ing. 


OF  WYOMING.  151 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Who  that  feels  what  love  is  here, 
All  its  falsehoods— all  its  pain, 
Would,  for  even  Elysium's  sphere, 
Hisk  the  fatal  dream  again? 
Who,  that  'midst  the  desert's  heat, 
Sees  the  waters  fade  away, 
Would  not  rather  die  than  meet 
Streams  again  as  false  as  they? 

Moire. 


What  a  wayward  and  unaccountable  passion 
is  love!  No  strength  of  mind  can  resist  it — no 
force  of  reasoning  can  control  it.  If  it  has 
once  truly  fixed  upon  the  heart,  what  will  re 
move  it?  Neither  the  coldness  nor  the  unwor- 
thiness  of  its  object.  We  may  discover  that 
our  affections  are  misplaced — we  may  grieve, 
but  we  will  continue  to  love.  We  may  disap 
prove — we  may  condemn — we  may  even  try 
to  detest.  But  it  will  not  avail.  Our  affections 
will  cling  to  their  chosen  object,  no  matter 
how  desperate  the  efforts  we  may  make  to  sep 
arate  them.  The  mention  of  a  beloved  name 
will  excite  tender  emotions,  although  we  know 
it  to  be  the  name  of  a  wretch.  We  may  abhor 
crime,  yet  we  may  love  the  criminal.  Nay, 
we  may  receive  injuries — ungenerous,  base  and 
cruel  injuries — yet  we  may  love  the  unkind 
being  who  inflicts  them,  and  long  to  kiss  the 


152  THE  BETROTHED 

hand  that  consigns  us  to  misery.  Unfortu 
nate,  indeed,  is  the  condition  of  those  whose 
heart  and  understanding  are  thus  at  variance* 
Often  does  the  struggle  continue  until  the  whole 
frame  becomes  agitated  and  convulsed,  and 
sinks  into  despondency — despair — madness — 
death! — So  true  is  the  Greek  adage  which  may 
be  thus  paraphrased: 

Not  against  hope  alone,  said  mighty  Jove, 
But  against  reason  shall  weak  mortals  love, 
Until  the  madd'ning  strife  exhausts  the  breath, 
And  the  torn  victim  finds  repose  in  death. 

Isabella  Austin  still  continued  to  love  But 
ler  even  after  his  treacherous  alliance  with  the 
savages  became  known.  In  spite  of  the  exhor 
tations  and  arguments  of  her  friends — in  spite 
of  her  own  earnest  desire  to  withdraw  her  af 
fections  from  one  so  perfidious  and  wicked,  her 
heart  still  clung  to  him.  He  was  her  first,  her 
only  choice  among  mankind.  All  her  affections 
were  entwined  around  his  image,  and  she  found 
it  as  impossible  to  dissever  them  as  to  separate 
sensation  from  her  existence.  Severely,  in 
deed,  did  she  feel  his  perfidy — deeply  did  she 
lament  his  turpitude.  His  attempt  upon  Mis* 
Norwood,  and  his  instrumentality  in  carrying 
off  her  father,  greatly  shocked  her.  She  could 
offer  no  apology  for  him.  She  saw  that  he  was 


OP  WYOMING*  153 

not  only  a  traitor  but  a  ruffian;  yet,  though  her 
esteem  was  gone,  her  love  was  not  diminished; 
and  no  small  portion  of  the  agitation  she  expe 
rienced,  when  she  heard  of  the  late  transaction, 
arose  from  the  danger  to  which  he  had  then 
been  exposed.  The  outcry  against  him  through 
out  the  whole  settlement  was  unanimous  and 
great;  and  every  day  her  ears  were  pained  by 
accumulating  intelligence  of  his  flagitious  acts 
and  detestable  projects.  She  brooded  intensely 
and  sorrowfully  on  the  subject,  until  she  be 
came  an  object  of  pity  to  all  her  acquaintances, 
and  of  anxiety  to  her  immediate  friends. 

Miss  Norwood  and  Miss  Watson  were  her 
most  intimate  companions,  and  deeply  did  they 
sympathise  with  her.  By  every  art  that  could 
be  suggested  by  the  tenderest  friendship,  they 
endeavoured  to  sooth  her  sorrows,  and  divert 
her  mind  from  the  unhappy  subject  of  its  con 
templations.  Books,  music,  short  walks — 
for  the  times  were  too  dangerous  to  admit  long 
ones — and  cheerful  conversation,  were  the 
principal  means  resorted  to,  and  they  some 
times  produced  an  apparently  good  effect.  She 
felt  grateful  for  the  attention  of  these  true 
friends,  and  seemed  to  derive  enjoyment  from 
their  society. 

One  evening  as  they  sat  in  the  porch  of  Dr. 


154  THE  BETROTHED 

Watson's  house,  they  observed  two  fowl* 
fighting  with  great  fury. 

"Alas!"  said  Isabella,  "all  animated  nature 
seems  to  be  imbued  with  contentious  feelings. 
The  propensity  for  mutual  destruction  is  not 
confined  to  man.  To  be  irritable  and  vengeful 
seems  to  be  a  law  imposed,  no  doubt  for  wise 
ends,  on  all  sentient  beings!" 

"All  sentient  beings,"  observed  Agnes, 
"have  impulses  capable  of  being  excited  to 
either  hatred  or  love,  resentment  or  gratitude. 
The  effects  of  hatred  and  resentment  even  in 
the  inferior  animals,  it  is  unpleasant  to  behold; 
while  those  of  love  and  gratitude  are  always  de 
lightful.  How  much  more  so  in  man!  and  en 
dowed  as  he  is  with  reason  to  see  and  appreci 
ate  the  superior  advantages  of  the  latter,  he  is 
wonderfully  inexcusable  for  not  cultivating 
them  attentively  and  indulging  them  exclu 
sively." 

"That  men,"  said  Miss  Watson,  "  with  all 
their  powers  of  calculation  and  foresight,  should 
plunge,  on  account  of  any  provocation,  into  the 
known  miseries  of  war,  seems  to  me  not  only 
inexcusable  but  unaccountable.  The  lower  ani 
mals  cannftt  estimate  the  extent  of  injury  they 
may  inflict  on  each  other  by  yielding  to  the 
impulses  of  anger,  and  are,  therefore,  certainly 
not  so  culpable  and  absurd  in  their  quarrels  a& 


OF  WYOMING.  155 

men.  Neither  do  the  evils  resulting  from 
their  combats  ever  extend  so  far.  With  the 
rational,  and,  therefore,  less  excusable  beings, 
we  frequently  find  the  evils  of  contention  al 
most  unbounded  in  their  extent,  and  shocking 
in  their  details.  Plunder,  devastation,  and 
death  inflicted  in  a  thousand  forms,  and,  alas! 
too  often  in  the  most  cruel  that  can  be  devised, 
are  the  direful  accompaniments — often  the  in 
tended  objects — of  human  warfare,  for  which, 
in  my  view,  no  justification  nor  apology  can  be 
offered." 

11 1  do  not  wish  to  justify  the  wars  waged  by 
men  from  any  example  drawn  from  the  brute 
creation,"  said  Isabella.  "Alas!  I  have  been 
too  severely  tried  by  the  animosity  existing 
among  our  race — our  neighbours — our  connex* 
ions — shall  I  say  our  friends! — ah!  no;  they 
are  deceitful — false  friends! — But  such  are 
mankind! — Can  I  justify  them?  No — no.  In 
our  present  unhappy  dissensions,  my  approba 
tion  may  be  entirely  on  one  side;  but  there  are 
those  I  dearly  love  embarked  on  both.  Can  I, 
without  a  bleeding  heart,  contemplate  the  strife 
of  such,  or  wish  either  to  be  vanquished?  My 
friends,  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  wish  safety  to 
your  most  dreaded  and  detested  enemy!  Alas! 
is  he  not  my  own  enemy?  Yet  does  my  heart 
bleed  for  him — cling  to  him — in  spite  of  reason 


156  THE  BETHOTHED 

— in  spite  of  duty — for,  oh!  I  cannot  control 
my  heart.  I  ask  you  not  to  approve  of  me.  I 
only  ask  you  to  pity  and  forgive  me!" 

"  Truly  do  we  pity — sincerely  do  we  forgive 
you,"  said  Miss  Watson.  "We  know  your 
affection  for  that  man  is  involuntary.  It  is 
true  love  with  which  reason  has  nothing  to  do. 
It  is  the  offspring  of  feeling  .alone.  Happy, 
happy  are  they  whose  reason  sanctions  the  im 
pulse  of  their  feelings!" 

At  this  moment  their  attention  was  directed 
to  a  man  on  horseback  galloping  swiftly  to 
wards  the  governor's  house.  They  recognis 
ed  him  to  be  Joseph  Jennings.  Their  hearts 
sunk  within  them,  for  something  indescribable 
in  his  manner,  as  he  past,  told  them  that  he  was 
the  bearer  of  alarming  intelligence.  In  a  short 
time,  they  perceived  a  crowd  assembling  about 
the  governor's  house,  and  were  soon  informed 
that  the  intelligence  was  indeed  alarming.  The 
combined  forces  of  the  tories  and  Indians  had 
invaded  the  district.  One  of  the  remote  forts 
situated  about  half  a  day's  journey  from  the 
village,  had  already  fallen  into  their  hands,  in 
their  attack  upon  which  they  had  slain  nearly 
a  hundred  of  the  garrison,  and  after  its  surren 
der,  had  massacred  the  survivors  consisting  of 
about  the  same  number. 

In  a  short  time  our  trembling  females  re- 


OP  WYOMING*  157 

reived  a  message  from  the  governor,  requiring 
them  to  retire  into  the  adjoining  fort,  where  all 
the  women  and  children,  and  the  aged  and  in 
firm  inhabitants  of  the  settlement,  were  hasten 
ing  for  protection.  Mr.  Norwood  and  Dr.  Wat 
son  were  the  bearers  of  this  message,  and  their 
companions  to  the  only  asylum  that  now  re 
mained  against  the  advancing  and  ferocious  foe. 

The  habitations  of  Wyoming  soon  became 
totally  deserted.  The  fort,  although  capacious, 
having  in  its  construction  been  adapted  for 
such  an  emergency,  was  incapable  of  afford 
ing  accommodation  to  the  great  number  that  de 
sired  admission.  Many  were,  therefore,  oblig 
ed  to  fly  to  the  wilds  and  mountains  for  safety. 
The  nearest  and  dearest  friends  were  thus 
separated,  and  the  most  heart-rending  scenes  of 
grief  and  distress  were  sorrowfully  witnessed 
by  the  governor  and  the  council,  without  it  be 
ing  in  their  power  to  relieve  them. 

The  fort  was  tolerably  well  calculated  for 
defence.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  parapet  about 
five  feet  high,  outside  of  which  was  a  ditch 
nearly  as  many  feet  deep,  and  more  than  twice 
as  many  wide.  This  ditch  was,  on  the  present 
occasion,  filled  with  water  brought  to  it  by  a 
channel  purposely  cut  from  the  Sharon.  It  was 
entered  by  a  wooden  bridge  or  moveable  plat 
form  which  was  susceptible  of  being  drawn  up 
o 


• 

a 


against  the  gate  of  the  parapet,  so  as  in  th#t 
place,  to  form  no  inconsiderable  addition  to  its 
strength. 

The  garrison  consisted  of  about  four  hundred 
men,  comprising  nearly  two-thirds  of  the  armed 
strength  of  the  whole  settlement.  The  residue 
was  scattered  in  various  small  bands,  for  the 
purpose  of  protecting  the  inhabitants  in  differ 
ent  parts  of  the  district.  One  of  these  under 
Joseph  Jennings,  was  particularly  useful  in  de 
fending  those  who  were  obliged  to  seek  shelter 
in  the  mountains  from  marauding  parties  of  the 
enemy.  While  engaged  in  this  service,  Joseph 
had  the  fortune  to  encounter  the  celebrated 
Brandt  himself,  and  to  rescue  from  his  murder 
ous  hands,  the  venerable  Hermit  of  the  woods. 
T,he  incident  will  be  related  in  the  next  chap 
ter. 

« 


OF  WYOMING.  159 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

There  was  a  something  in  his  look, 
Which  the  fell  murderer's  purpose  shook; 
His  words,  mysterious,  dark  and  strange, 
pad  power  the  savage  heart  to  change: 
Yet  le-s  the  words  impression  made, 
Than  the  deep  tune  of  what  he  said. 

Harley.  f 

It  was  about  mid-summer  in  1778,  that  the 
united  force  of  the  tories  and  Indians  arri 
ved  at  the  most  northern  settlement  in  the 
valley  of  Wyoming.  This  place  was  defended 
by  a  garrison  of  about  two  hundred  men, 
stationed  in  a  fort,  called  Wintermoot,  from  a 
violent  tory  of  that  name,  who  had  several 
months  before  made  it  the  object  of  an  attack, 
in  which  he  was  defeated.  It  was  assailed 
now  by  an  overwhelming  force  of  nearly  six 
teen  hundred  tories  and  Indians,  under  the 
command  of  Butler  and  Brandt.  The  tories, 
who  were  commanded  by  Butler,  formed  the 
largest  portion  of  this  army,  their  number  be 
ing  about  one  thousand.  The  remainder  con 
sisted  of  the  Mohawk  warriors,  who  owned 
Brandt  for  their  leader.  On  reaching  the  first 
settlement  of  the  whites,  they  halted  in  order 
to  perform  some  warlike  ceremonies  customary 
with  the  native  tribes,  on  such  occasions. 
The  war-dance  was  accordingly  performed, 


160  '  THE  BETROTHED 

and  the  war-song  chanted.  The  former  beins: 
more  grotesque  than  picturesque,  would  afford 
no  pleasure  in  the  description;  the  latter,  which 
\vas  wild  in  its  structure  and  fierce  in  its  senti 
ments,  ran  something  in  the  following  strain. 

INDIAN  WAR  SONG. 

Warriors  !  warriors  !  we  are  come 

To  the  field  of  blood  ; 
Warriors !  warriors  !  we  assume 

The  fierce  and  vengeful  mood ! 
Remember  the  combats  our  fathers  maintained 

So  daringly,  so  daringly ! 

O'er  the  red  fields  of  slaughter  their  hot  vengeance 
reigned 

Unsparingly,  unsparingly ! 

The  sun  of  the  summer  burns  fierce  on  the  plain, 
The  fire  of  our  wrath  in  the  battle  shall  glow ; — 
The  thunder  of  Heav'n  shakes  the  -land  and  the  main. 
Our  war-cry  strikes  dread  to  the  heart  of  the  foe  ! 

On,  ye  warriors,  brave  and  bold ! 
The  foe  is  there — his  ranks  behold, — 

To  death — to  death  devote  them ! 
Send  their  souls  to  howl  in  air ; 
And  let  their  writhing  frames  declare 

'Twas  vengeful  arms  that  smote  them ! 

Warriors!  now  to  us  belongs 

To  avenge  the  red-man's  wrongs, 
To  teach  the  spoilers  of  our  race,' 

The  murderers  of  our  sires, 
That  strength  does  yet  our  sinews  brace* 

That  rage  our  hearts  inspires ! — - 


• 


OP  WYOMING.  161 

There  they  are !— We'll  spare  them  not! 
Our  arms  are  strong,  our  rage  is  hot, 
Our  aim  is  sure,  and  sharp  our  steel, 
Which  soon  their  quivering  flesh  shall  feel, 
As  from  their  sculls  we  wrench  away 

The  trophies  of  this  vengeful  day ! 
I 

Warriors!  warriors!  we  are  come, 
To  seal  yon  haughty  white  men's  doom — 
Hark  !  our  fathers  from  on  high, 
Pronounce  the  mandate — "they  shall  die!" 
Haste  then,  the  dread  command  obey! — 
Plunge — plunge  into  the  deadly  fray ! 
Nor  mercy  ask  nor  give  to-day ! 

After  the  excitement  of  the  bloody  exhorta-- 
iions  contained  in  these  verses,  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  much  mercy  would  be  shown  to 
the  small  garrison  which  was  now  attacked.  The 
brave  Wyoming  soldiers,  however,  sold  their 
lives  dearly.  Repeatedly  did  their  well-aimed 
discharges  of  musketry  from  behind  their  ram 
parts,  thin  the  ranks  of  the  assailants  and 
stagger  the  enthusiasm  of  their  approach.  But 
that  enthusiasm,  supported  by  the  weight  of 
their  numbers,  carried  them  forward  to  the 
gate  of  the  ramparts,  which  soon  gave  way,  and 
a  thousand  balls  followed  the  flying  garrison 
into  their  last  refuge,  a  large  log  edifice  inside 
of  the  entrenchment.  Nearly  one  half  of  these 
brave  men  were  slain;  the  rest  surrendered  at 
discretion,  but  were  soon  laid  prostrate  in  the 
o  2 


162  THE  BETROTHED 

arms  of  death  along  side  of  their  companions^ 
and  two  hundred  scalps  collected  together  that 
evening  in  the  tent  of  Brandt,  formed  the  hor 
rid  trophies  on  which  that  monster  feasted  his 
fiendish  imagination  with  intense  delight. 

"Eight  hundred  more!"  cried  he,  addressing 
himself  to  Butler,  "  and  my  revenge  on  Wy 
oming  shall  be  satisfied!" 

"That  will  require  the  heads  of  nearly  one- 
fourth  of  the  population  of  the  district!"  re 
plied  his  confederate  in  cruelty.  "But  no 
matter,  you  shall  be  gratified.  The  full  com 
plement  shall,  before  many  days,  be  meted  out 
to  you.  Your  valour  deserves  even  a  richef 
reward." 

"What  richer  can  I  obtain?"  asked  Brandt, 
with  fierce  satisfaction  gleaming  in  his  burning 
eyes.  "  In  the  assemblies  of  my  tribe,  I  will 
point  to  these  trophies  of  my  valour,  and  I 
will  say,  '  Mohawks,  behold  how  I  have  dealt 
with  your  enemies' — and  they  will  answer, 
*  Brandt  deserves  to  be  our  leader  in  war,  for 
he  has  overpowered  the  white  men!'  ' 

That  evening,  while  the  victors,  wearied  out 
b)'  their  exertions  during  the  fight,  or  their  ca 
rousals  afterwards,  were  mostly  sunk  in  slumber, 
and  the  whole  encampment  had  become  hush 
ed  in  comparative  silence,  Brandt,  whose  exul 
tation  of  mind  prevented  him  from  sharing  in 


*v  OF  WYOMING.  163 

the  general  repose,  and  who  was  also  desirous 
to  ascertain  whether  the  sentinels  were  atten 
tive  to  their  duty,  wandered  for  some  time 
from  station  to  station,  indulging  his  delight  in 
the  present  triumph,  and  regaling  his  imagina 
tion  with  the  contemplation  of  others  that  he 
believed  were  speedily  approaching. 

The  evening  was  beautiful,  and  altogether 
free  from  that  sultriness  which  frequently  cha 
racterizes  the  evenings  of  July  (for  it  was  now 
the  beginning  of  that  month)  in  Pennsylvania. 
There  was  a  magnificent  serenity  in  the  ex 
pansive  brightness  of  the  starry  heavens,  the 
majestic  mildness  of  the  modest  moon,  the  se- 
dateness  of  the  lofty  hills,  the  solid  plain  on 
which  he  trod,  and  the  broad  and  quiet  sheet 
of  the  Susquehanna  that  lay  basking  in  the 
moonlight  rays  before  him,  that  might  have 
inspired  even  a  savage  with  the  love  of  tran 
quillity  and  peace.  There  was  also  inherent 
in  the  sublime  grandeur  of  the  scene,  a  mys 
terious  power  of  impressing  on  the  mind  of 
the  beholder,  holy  and  solemn  feelings  and 
convictions  relative  to  the  great  Author  of  all 
things,  which  might  have  imparted  a  sensa 
tion  of  humility  even  to  the  proud  and  stern 
heart  of  the  triumphant  Brandt,  and  softened 
his  rugged  temper,  into,  at  least,  a  temporary 
feeling  of  kindness  and  benevolence  toward  his 


164  THE  BETROTHED 

fellow  men.  But  although  he  was  impressed  with 
no  feeling  of  this  nature,  he  was  not  altogether 
insensible  to  the  beaut^sind  blandness*  of  the 
scene.  These  induced  him  to  wander  some 
distance  from  the  fort,  towards  the  bank  of  the 
river,  in  order  that  he  might  have  a  more  per 
fect  view  of  the  silvery  sheen  of  its  broad  bo 
som.  As  he  approached  the  river,  but  while 
yet  at  some  distance  from  it,  lie  imagined  that 
he  beheld  the  figure  of  a  man  moving  slowly 
amidst  the  trees  near  the  bank'.  He  advanced 
cautiously,  and  with  that  stealthy  pace  which 
the  Indians,  when  requisite,  can  so  readily 
adopt,  for  he  wished  not  to  frighten  away  the 
wanderer,  whom  he  suspected  to  be  a  spy  from 
the  whig  party,  endeavouring  to  reconnoitre 
the  state  and  position  of  his  encampment.  If  so, 
as  he  was  armed  with  a  tomahawk,  he  determin 
ed  to  cut  him  down,  and  add  one  scalp  more  to 
the  number  of  the  day's  trophies.  If  indeed  he 
should  be  a  white  man,  whether  a  spy  or  not, 
unless  he  belonged  to  Butler's  party,  he  resolved 
that  he  should  suffer  the  same  fate.  His  quick 
eye  soon  discerned  that  the  stranger  was  clothed, 
partly  at  least,  in  the  Indian  costume.  This  caused 
him  to  hesitate  in  his  murderous  intention,  and 
he  hailed  the  stranger  in  the  Indian  language. 
The  latter  was  startled.  He  had  evidently  not 
hitherto  observed  the  approach  of  Brandt.  It 


OP  WYOMING.  165 

was  now  too  late  to  avoid  an  interview,  even 
if  he  wished  to  do  so,  and  he  answered  the 
salutation  in  the  same  language. 

Brandt  now  recognised  the  Hermit  of  the 
Woods.  By  information  received  from  But 
ler,  he  knew  that  he  had  now  in  his  power  the 
person  whose  interference  had  occasioned  the 
rescue  of  Miss  Norwood  and  Miss  Watson,  and 
the  death  of  three  of  his  party  in  the  Hemlock 
Glade.  His  first  impulse  was  to  sacrifice  him 
to  his  vengeance.  But  reflecting  that  he  was 
entirely  in  his  power,  he  resolved  to  forbear, 
until  he  should  show  him  how  he  had  excited 
his  resentment — for  he  knew  that  revenge  is 
never  so  complete  as  when  its  victim  is  made 
conscious  of  his  offence,  and  compelled  by  his 
sufferings  or  his  fears  to  deplore  having  com 
mitted  it  Indeed  those  who  are  epicures  in 
the  indulgence  of  that  most  savage  and  hellish 
of  all  passions,  never  wish  the  sufferings  of 
their  victim  to  be  too  suddenly  terminated  by 
his  dissolution — for  what  gratification  can  ven 
geance  derive  when  consciousness  is  gone  and 
life  extinct? — Besides,  even  before  he  received 
the  information  of  the  Hermit's  agency  in  the 
transaction  just  mentioned,  Brandt  had  par 
taken  of  the  general  reverence  which  was  felt 
for  the  old  man  by  the  Mohawks,  whose  vil 
lages  of  late  years  he  had  frequently  visited, 


166  THE  BETROTHED 

and  had  to  Brandt  himself  paid  more  than  or 
dinary  attention.  It  is  true,  he  had  sometimes 
wearied  the  stern  savage  by  ineffectual  attempts 
to  restrain  his  impetuous  temper  and  soften 
his  ferocity.  Brandt,  although  he  disrelished 
those  harangues,  and  improved  nothing  by 
them,  could  not  but  respect  a  man  who  took 
so  much  trouble  to  do  him  a  service.  Some 
sprinkling  of  this  feeling,  perhaps,  on  this  occa 
sion,  mingled  with  his  resentment,  and  con 
tributed  to  produce  the  pause  in  his  murderous 
design,  which  we  have  mentioned. 

-  "  What  brings  thee  here,  old  man,"  said  he, 
"  prowling,  at  midnight  like  a  beast  of  prey,  on 
the  skirts  of  a  field  of  battle?" 

"I  come,"  said  the  Hermit,  "to  this  scene 
of  slaughter  to  discover  if  there  is  no  wounded 
being  lying  neglected  in  its  vicinity,  to  whom  I 
may  be  of  service." 

"Thou  mayest  save  thyself  such  trouble," 
said  Brandt.  "Every  thing  human  that,  this 
morning,  inhabited  yon  fort,  has  been  subjected 
to  the  tomahawk. " 

"Then  indeed  I  can  render  them  no  ser 
vice!"  ejaculated  the  Hermit.  "Barbarous — 
barbarous  Brandt! — But  cruel  asthou  art,  thou 
art  even  less  so  than  he  who  bears  the  name  of 
a  Christian— was  born  among  Christians — was 
educated  in  Christian  principles — and  yet  has 


OP  WYOMING.  16? 

assisted  thee  in  this  butchery  upon  his  own 
people." 

"Beware  old  man,"  exclaimed  Brandt,  "or 
thou  mayest  thyself  become  the  victim  of  my 
resentment.  My  vengeance  is  not  yet  satisfied 
on  the  usurping  race  who  have  destroyed  my 
fathers,  and  robbed  their  children  of  their  hunt 
ing  grounds!"  & 

"Thy  fathers!" — interrupted  Rodolph — 
"thy  fathers  were  of  the  race  on  whom  thou 
seekest  vengeance.  Unnatural  man,  leave  the 
work-of  destroying  white  men  to  those  who 
have  none  of  their  blood  in  their  veins!  Thou 
shouldst — " 

"Hold!"  shouted  the  savage  with  a  loud  and 
fearful  voice,  "by  Manetto,  thou  dost  insult 
me!  Seest  thou  this  tomahawk!  Is  that  the 
weapon  of  a  white  man?  Seest  thou  the  hand 
that  grasps  it,  the  eye  that  directs  it,  and  the 
heart  that  dictates  its  use — Seest  thou  these? 
Do  they  belong  to  a  white  man?  No — no — 
tremble — they  belong  to  a  Mohawk!  One  who 
has  sworn  vengeance  on  all  thy  race;  and  who 
grieves  that  his  blood  is  tainted  with  theirs. 
One  who  has  sworn  vengeance  on  thyself,  for 
thou  hast  done  him  an  injury  not  to  be  forgiven 
--thou  hast  caused  the  destruction  of  three  of 
his  mother's  kindred!" 

"Brandt!"   said   the   Hermit,  in  a  fearless 


168  THE  BETROTHED 

tone  that  surprised  the  savage,  "  Brandt,  what 
meanest  thou?  Thy  charge  I  comprehend  not. 
— But  let  me  tell  thee,  I  fear  neither  thy  bar 
barous  weapon,  thy  blood-stained  arm,  thy  fe 
rocious  eye,  nor  thy  savage  heart.  Weaponless 
as  I  am,  I  dare  defy  thee.  But  explain  thy 
charge.  What  kindred  of  thy  mother  have  I 
destroyed?"  * 

"One  word  will  explain  it,"  said  Brandt, 
somewhat  disconcerted  by  the  manner  of  the 
Hermit,  "the  Hemlock  Glade! — All  the  people 
of  my  tribe  are  the  kindred  of  my  mother!" 

The  Hermit  now  clearly  comprehended  the 
charge;  but  he  shrunk  not  from  meeting  it. 
"Ha!"  said  he,  "I  might  have  been  assured 
that  thy  companion  in  atrocity  would  have  in 
formed  thee  of  that.  I  did  my  duty  then>  I 
saved  innocence  from  misery,  and  thee  from 
additional  guilt.  Yet  I  lifted  not  my  hand 
against  thee.  Dost  thou  wish  that  thou  hadst 
disgraced  thy  manhood  by  the  murder  of  wo 
men?" 

"They  were  our  captives,  old  man,"  said 
Brandt;  "  what  we  should  have  done  to  them 
would  have  been  determined  by  our  chiefs. 
But  the  death  of  my  companions  must  be 
avenged.  Thou  wert  the  cause — thou  must  die !" 

As  Brandt  prepared  to  strike,  the  Hermit, 
starting  back  a  few  paces,  drew  himself  up  to  a 


OP  WYOMING.  169 

greater  height  than  usual,  and  assumed  an  air 
and  attitude  of  majesty  that  seemed  for  a  time 
to  hold  the  savage  spell-bound. 

"Brandt,  beware!"  he  exclaimed,  "Heaven 
looks  upon  thee!— No — no,  thou  darest  not 
strike  to  injure  this  time-worn  frame:.  The 
spirits  that  inhabit  the  orbs  which  shine  above 
us  would  see  thee  and  shudder,  for  it  would 
be  a  deed  of  guilt  surpassing  whatever  thou 
hast  yet  C9mmitted.  Return  to  thy  camp,  nor 
pollute  the  earth  with  such  a  crime.  Thou 
knowest  not  whom  thou  wouldst  slay." 

''Who  art  thou?  strange  man,"  said  Brandt 
in  a  subdued  tone.  "Art  thou  not  Rodolph  of  the 
woods?" 

"I  am  Rodolph  of  the  woods,"  replied  the 
Hermit;  "  and  I  am  one  whose  fate  is  so  closely 
connected  with  thine,  that  if  thou  darest  to 
strike  me,  with  the  blow  thou  wilt  seal  thy 
own  perdition.  The  laws  of  the  universe  have 
given  me  a  control  over  thee  from  which  thou 

t> 

canst  not  escape,  but  of  which,  at  present, 
thou  knowest  nothing." 

"•Thou  speakest  mysteries,  old  man  !"  re 
turned  Brandt.  "By  Manetto,  I  do  not  believe 
thy  words.  Thou  wouldst  mock  me — thou 
wouldst  frighten  me. — Ha!  thou  shalt  not. — 
What  care  I  for  thy  fancied  control..  Vain 
dreamer,  thy  silly  device  will  not  serve  thee.  I 
p 


170  THE  BETROTHED 

must  have  revenge  for  my  slaughtered  friends — 
and  now  thou  diest!" 

"I  die  not  now.  Heaven  prevents  thy  wick 
edness!"  said  the  Hermit.  Brandt  replied  not; 
but  uttered  an  imprecation  which  he  intended 
should  "be  followed  by  the  stroke  of  death.  Im 
mediately  his  weapon  was  raised  in  air,  but  as 
it  descended,  it  was  grasped  firmly  by  an  un 
seen  hand,  and  rendered  powerless.  The 
Hermit  then  seized  it,  wrested  it  from  him,  and 
flung  it  afar  into  the  Susquehanna. 

"  Untameable  savage!"  he  cried,  "  return  to 
thy  companions,  I  command  thee;  and  thank 
Heaven  that  thou  hast  been  prevented  from 
committing  the  most  terrible  of  crimes." 

Brandt,  awe-struck  and  yet  enraged,  was 
about  to  answer,  when  an  unknown  voice  ex 
claimed  "Obey!"  and  at  the  same  instant,  a 
large  pistol  was  presented  to  his  breast  by  the 
hand  that  had  lately  grasped  him  so  firmly. 
He  instinctively  started  back,  muttered  a  curse 
upon  his  ill-fortune,  and  fled. 

"It  would  be  right  to  shoot  him,"  said  the 
person  who  held  the  pistol;  and  he  was  about 
performing  what  he  said,  when  the  Hermit 
prevented  him  by  exclaiming — 

"Oh!  spare  him!  for  my  sake,  spare  him!" 

"For  your  sake,  then,  let  him  go  in  safety, 
this  time,"  said  Joseph  Jennings,  for  it  was  he 


OF  WYOMING.  171 

vho  had  come  so  opportunely  to  the  Hermit's 
assistance.  "But  I  fear,"  added  he,  "that 
we  shall  all  have  reason  to  repent  this  lenity." 
"Alas!  I  also  fear  it,"  said  the  Hermit,  sor 
rowfully;  "  but,  Joseph,  you  know  my  reasons. 
I  thank  you  for  respecting  my  feelings,  and  for 
your  timely  interference  to-night.  Let  us  trust 
the  future  to  the  goodness  of  the  Great  Being, 
whose  hand  has  so  evidently  appeared  in  what 
has  just  taken  place.  But  we  must  now  haste 
from  hence,  lest  the  implacable  Brandt  return 
to  assail  us  with  a  force  we  shall  not  be  able  to 
withstand." 

Joseph's  small  party  of  bush-rangers,  as  they 
were  called,  were  stationed  in  a  valley  about  a 
mile  distant.  Thither  they  bent  their  course, 
and  soon  joined  them. 


172  THE  BETROTHED 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  (,f  lusty  life, 
Last  evf  in  Ixsuity's  circle  proudly  pay, 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal  sound  of  strife, 
The  mom  the  marshalling  in  arms— the  day 
Battle's  magnificently-stern  arraj  I 
The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent. 
The  earth  \s  covered  thick  with  other  clay 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent 
Rider  and  horse— friend,  foe— in  njie  red  burial  blent. 

Byron 

The  next  day  was  one  of  terrible  importance 
to  the  people  of  Wyoming.  It  brought  against 
them  the  'combined  forces  of  their  unfeeling 
enemies.  Flushed  with  victory,  and  breathing 
denunciations  of  desolation  and  ruin  on  the  hith 
erto  flourishing  settlementsof  this  fair  valley,  the 
fierce  Mohawks  and  merciless tories,sweptalong 
in  their  march  from  the  fort  of  Wintermoot  to  that 
of  Wyoming,  without  meeting  any  opposition. 
The  country  indeed  was  deserted  before  them. 
Men,  women  and  children, — the  cattle,  and  all 
kinds  of  easily  transported  property,  had  been 
hurried  off  to  places  of  security.  In  their  hasty 
flight,  however,  the  fugitives  had  unavoidably 
left  much  valuable  property  behind.  This,  it 
is  not  to  be  supposed,  was  spared  by  the  in 
vaders.  Every  dwelling  was  pillaged,  and  what 
ever  could  not  be  removed  or  was  not  thought 
worthy  of  removal,  was  destroyed.  The  plun- 


OF    WYOMING.  173 

tiered  houses  were  subjected  to  the  flames,  and 
even  the  fences  of  the  fields  were  vengefully 
and  wantonly  demolished. 

At  length  the  drums  and  trumpets  of  the  to- 
ries,  and  the  terrifying  war-whoop  of  the  sava 
ges,  were  heard  by  the  garrison  of  Wyoming, 
and  the  alarmed  multitude,  of  women,  children, 
aged  and  infirm  under  its  protection.  Every 
disposition  that  judgment  and  zeal  could  sug 
gest  towards  an  effective  defence  was  adopted 
by  the  Governor  and  his  military  coadjutor 
Colonel  Dennison.  Their  men  were  divided 
between  them,  and  each  took  his  station  at  a 
separate  wing  of  the  entrenchment,  in  order 
to  repel  the  enemy  from  whatever  part  it 
should  be  assaulted.  Upon  two  sides  only 
could  the  fort  be  easily  attacked,  and  to  these 
was  the  defence  now  chiefly  directed. 

The  assailing  force  was  also  divided  into  two 
-bodies,  the  savages  and  the  lories,  being  ranged 
under  their  respective  leaders,  Brandt  and  But 
ler.  The  tories  were  the  first  that  made  the 
assault.  They  advanced  toward  the  moveable 
bridge,  but  found  that  it  was  drawn  up  against 
the  gate  of  the  parapet.  They  retired,  and  in 
the  course  of  half  an  hour  constructed  a  frame 
of  light  timber.  This  they  intended  to  throw 
over  the  ditch  which  was  now  full  of  water, 
tin  approaching  to  make  the  attempt  they  were 


174  THE    BETROTHED 

saluted  with  such  an  effective  volley  of  mus- 
quetry  from  the  Governor's  division  that  they 
could  not  accomplish  their  design.  They 
withdrew,  greatly  chagrined,  with  the  loss  of 
nearly  a  hundred  men. 

In  the  meantime  the  savages  had  dragged 
forward,  as  near  to  the  fort  as  they  could  with 
safety  approach,  a  large  quantity  of  rubbish  and 
timber  torn  from  the  houses  of  the  village,  in 
order  to  fill  the  ditch  in  a  quarter  where  they 
thought  the  entrenchment  assailable.  But  here 
they  also  met  with  such  a  warm  reception 
from  the  walls  as  obliged  them  to  desist,  after 
the  destruction  of  about  fifty  of  their  warriors. 

Butler  and  Brandt  now  held  a  consultation. 
"These  pale-faced  "rebels,"  said  the  latter, 
"fight  like  furies.  How  shall  we  penetrate 
their  strong-hold?  To  approach  it  on  any  side 
is  destruction." 

"It is  an  unexpected  resistance,"  said  But 
ler.  "We  must  use  artifice.  Let  us  ;with- 
draw  our  men  from  the  reach  of  danger,  and 
then  deliberate." 

The  attack  was  suspended,  and  the  chiefs 
conferred  together. 

"The  rebels  manage  their  affairs  better  than 
I  expected,"  said  Butler.  "They  know  the 
strength  of  their  position,  and  they  have  avail 
ed  themselves  of  it  with  much  spirit.  It  is  in 


OF    WYOMING.  175 

vain  to  exert  our  force  against  them  while  thus 
sheltered.  We  cannot  reach  their  ramparts, 
otherwise  we  might  scale  them.  But  our 
musketry  produces  on  them  no  effect,  while 
theirs,  whenever  we  approach  near  enou  gh 
thins  our  ranks  in  the  most  murderous  manner. 
Cannon  we  have  none.  If  we  had,  the  state  of 
affairs  would  be  different, — this  consultation 
would  not  be  required.  We  have  the  choice 
of  two  measures — to  besiege,  and  endeavour 
to  vstarve  them  into  a  surrender,  or  to  allure 
them  out  of  their  strong-hold  either  by  fair 
promises  or  pretended  flight.  Which  shall 
we  adopt?" 

"  A  siege  is  tedious,"  replied  Brandt.  "I 
love  action.  My  heart  rejoices  in  the  excite 
ment  of  strife.  But  flight  is  shameful.  Are 
we  vanquished  that  we  must  leave  the  field  to 
the  victors?" 

"  No,"  said  Butler.  "  We  are  not  van 
quished.  We  shall  not  fly — we  shall  only  re 
tire  to  a  better  position.  I  dislike  the  tedi- 
ousness  and  dulness  of  a  siege  as  much  as 
thou.  The  delay  might  frustrate  all  our  de 
signs.  The  rebels  are  in  daily  expectation  of 
succours  from  their  great  army.  We  must 
subdue  them  soon,  and  possess  their  fortified 
places,  or  we  shall  not  be  able  to  withstand  the 
force  that  may  be  sent  against  us.  A  siege, 


176  THE    BETROTHED 

therefore,  will  not  answer.  But,  brother,  are 
thy  people  not  expert  at  stratagems?  Do  ye 
not  love  the  animating  variety  of  dextrous 
manoeuvres,  ambuscades,  rapid  marches,  sur 
prises  and  sudden  actions  in  war?  Are  such 
not  the  favourite  pastimes  of  true  warriors,  who 
shun  no  toil  and  dread  no  danger?" 

"Brother,"  replied  Brandt,  "  thou  art  skil 
ful.  Thou  hast  spoken  truth.  My  people 
glory  in  the  manoeuvres  of  war.  The  rapid 
march,  the  silent  ambush,  and  the  clamorous 
battle  are  changes  that  delight  them.  Exert 
thy  wisdom — let  thy  cunning  dictate.  I  and 
my  people  will  obey  thee. " 

Butler  being  satisfied  with  this  assurance, 
took  his  measures  accordingly.  He  first  sent 
a  message  to  the  garrison  summoning  it  to  sur 
render,  oflt-ring  them  terms  more  favourable 
than  he  had  any  intention  of  fulfilling.  The 
Governor  was  inclined  to  accede  to  these  terms; 
but  the  other  leaders  were  averse  to  them, 
and  he  \vas  overruled.  They  insisted  that  it 
would  be  folly  to  trust  to  the  professions  of  so 
treacherous  a  character  as  Butler,  whom  no 
treaties  could  bind.  Besides,  the  terms  now 
offered  being  only  personal  safety,  and  the 
guarantee  of  certain  property  under  the  obliga 
tion  of  never  again  resisting  British  authority, 
were  such  as  became  conquerors  only  to  pro- 


OF    WYOMING.  177 

pose  to  the  vanquished.  But  their  enemies 
were  not  conquerors;  nay,  thus  far,  they  were 
themselves  the  victors  in  the  strife.  In  fine, 
the  terms  were  rejected,  and  Butler  hastened 
to  adopt  other  measures. 

During  the  attack  which  had  taken  place, 
Mr.  Norwood,  who  was  entrusted  with  the 
maintenance  of  quiet  and  regularity  in  the  in 
terior  of  the  barracks,  where  those  unfit  to  as 
sist  in  the  defence  were  collected,  had  found 
abundant  exercise  for  all  his  fortitude  as  a  man 
and  his  influence  as  a  divine.  The  ferocity  of  the 
Indian  character,  had,  by  the  repetition  of  a 
thousand  tales,  made  a  deep  impression  on  the 
minds  of  the  women  and  children.  The  very 
name  of  Brandt  was  terrifying  to  them.  It 
was  connected  in  their  minds  with  all  that  was 
terrible  in  savage  cruelty  or  dreadful  in  human 
suffering.  Nor  was  the  name  of  Butler,  at  this 
time,  much  less  appalling  than  that  of  his  bar 
barous  confederate.  The  atrocities  committed 
under  his  sanction  at  fort  Wintermoot  had 
struck  them  with  dismay,  for  they  felt  that  if 
they  should  fall,  into  his  hands,  they  might  ex 
pect  nothing  but  a  similar  fate.  Lamentations 
and  cries,  and  prayers  to  Heaven  for  protec 
tion,  filled  every  apartment  occupied  by  these 
unfortunate  people,  during  the  whole  continu 
ance  of  the  firing  produced  by  the  action  that 


• 


178  THE    BETROTHED 

had  taken  place.  In  the  work  of  consolation 
and  encouragement,  Mr.  Norwood  was  zealous 
and  active,  and  he  had  two  assistants  whose 
zeal  and  activity  were  little  inferior  to  his  own. 
These  were  his  daughter  and  her  friend  Mary 
Watson.  Their  own  hearts  were  torn  with 
anxiety  and  terror.  But  they  lost  not  their 
presence  of  mind.  They  concealed  the  agita 
tion  which  they  could  not  overcome;  and, 
hastening  from  one  group  to  another  of  their 
terrified  companions,  they  soothed  their»alarms 
and  diffused  among  them  at  least  a  portion  of 
that  courage  which  they  themselves  so  nobly 
exerted. 

As  soon  as  the  firing  ceased,  and  it  was 
ascertained  that  their  enemies  were  beaten  off, 
the  joy  and  gratitude  which  pervaded  all  hearts 
were  equal  to  the  alarm  and  despair  they  had 
before  experienced.  Praises  and  blessings, 
loudly  expressed  and  earnestly  felt,  were  show 
ered  upon  their  brave  defenders.  Mothers 
pressed  their  sons  to  their  bosoms,  daughters 
their  fathers,  sisters  their  brothers,  and  wives 
their  husbands,  with  all  that  eqstacy  of  delight 
and  thankfulness  with  which  they  would  have 
hailed  their  restoration  from  the  dead.  After 
the  first  ebullition  of  joy  had  subsided,  and 
tranquillized  feelings  permitted  their  thoughts 
to  arise  to  the  Author  of  all  good,  Mr.  Nor- 


*** 


OF    WTOMING.  179 

wood  assembled  them  in  the  open  space  be 
tween  the  barrack  and  the  ramparts,  and  pub 
licly  offered  up  to  Heaven  grateful  acknow 
ledgments  for  the  protection  they  had  experi 
enced,  and  earnest  entreaties,  if  it  were  con 
sistent  with  the  Divine  will,  that  it  might  be 
continued  until  their  enemies  should  no  longer 
seek  their  destruction. 

Intelligence  that  their  enemies  were  retiring 
from  before  the  fort,  soon  added  to  their  satis 
faction.  Scouts  were  despatched  to  watch  the 
proceedings,  and  if  possible  ascertain  the  inten 
sions  of  the  retiring  foe.  It  was  in  a  short 
time  ascertained  that  the  tories  and  the  Indians 
had  separated,  and  marched  off  in  different  di 
rections.  Many  supposed  or  rather  hopedj 
from  this  circumstance,  that  some  misunder 
standing  had  arisen  between  these  confederates, 
and  if  so,  that  the  enterprises  of  either  against 
their  settlement,  if  continued,  would  be  easrly 
resisted  and  overthrown. 

While  the  minds  of  the  people,  in  the  fort, 
were  occupied  with  these  and  other  conjec 
tures  relative  to  the  present  aspect  of  their 
affairs,  one  of  the  scouts  who  had  been  taken 
prisoner  by  the  tories,  and  was  released  by  the 
order  of  Butler,  after  experiencing  from  the 
latter  much  unexpected  kindness,  returned  to 
the  garrison.  He  reported  to  the  Governor 


i 


180  THE  BETROTHED 

that  Butler  was  heartily  tired  of  his  alliance 
with  the  Indians,  on  account  of  their  ferocious 
cruelty  at  Fort  Wintermoot,  as  well  as  the 
general  obstinacy  of  their  character,  which  pre 
vented  him  from  being  able  to  restrain  their 
excesses,  or  even  to  direct  their  military  force 
to  any  useful  purpose.  The  scout  also  stated, 
that  besides  giving  him  this  information,  But 
ler  had  requested  him  to  acquaint  the  Governor 
of  Wyoming  with  his  desire  to  enter  into  ar 
rangements  by  which  their  differences  might  be 
reconciled,  and  peace  restored  to  the  settlement. 
What  we  ardently  wish  to  be  true,  we  are 
extremely  ready  to  believe.  The  Governor 
was,  therefore,  much  disposed  to  credit  this 
statement  of  his  kinsman's  wishes.  There  were, 
notwithstanding  the  known  perfidy  of  Butler's 
character,  many  circumstances  which  counte 
nanced  the  supposition  that  he  was  sincere  in 
this  instance.  The  scout,  who  had  conversed 
with  him,  seemed  fully  convinced  of  his  sincer 
ity. — It  was  believed  that  he  had  witnessed 
cruelties  enough  to  render  him  sick  of  such 
scenes;  he  had  been  worsted  in  his  attempt  upon 
their  fort,  and  might  begin  to  feel  hopeless  of 
success  in  his  designs;  and  above  all,  he  had 
found  his  savage  allies  so  intractable  that  he  had 
been  obliged  to  separate  from  them.  Why 
might  he  not,  therefore,  be  desirous  of  a  recon- 


OF  WYOMING.  181 

eiliation  with  his  former  friends  who  had  treated 
him  with  much  kindness,  and  with  whom  he 
had  lived  in  tranquillity  and  ease. 

These  reasons  operated  on  the  minds  of  many 
besides  the  Governor.  But  Mr.  Norwood, 
Colonel  Dennison,  and  Dr.  Watson,  placed  no 
confidence  in  them.  They  expressed  their 
conviction  that  the  professions  of  Butler  were 
totally  false,  and  that  they  were  intended 
merely  as  a  lure  to  facilitate  the  execution  of 
some  stratagem,  against  which  it  would  be  pro 
per  diligently  to  guard.  They,  however,  be 
lieved  that,  with  due  vigilance,  his  sincerity 
might  be  put  to  the  test,  without  any  risk  on 
their  part.  Since  so  many  of  their  friends, 
therefore,  were  desirous  to  open  the  door  for  a 
reconciliation,  which  might  put  an  end  to  such 
a  barbarous  and  unnatural  war,  they  would 
throw  no  opposition  in  the  way  of  any  prudent 
and  honourable  effort  to  effect  so  desirable  an 
object.  But  they  trusted  that  if  a  negotiation 
were  opened  with  the  tories  while  they  contin 
ued  to  form  an  armed  force,  the  utmost  circum 
spection  should  be  used  to  prevent  any  surprise, 
or  the  gaining  of  any  undue  advantage  in  a  mili 
tary  respect,  by  enemies  so  unprincipled  and 
unfeeling. 

It  was,  at  length,  determined  that  the  same 
individual  who  made  the  report  relative  to  But- 
Q 


THE  BETROTHED 

ler's  wishes,  should  return  to  him  and  ascertain 
on  what  terms  he  would  disband  his  forces  and 
accept  of  the  forgiveness  and  friendship  of  the 
people  of  Wyoming,  who  were,even  yet,  willing 
to  overlook  all  his  hostility,  and  restore  to  him 
their  former  protection  and  kindness.  The  mes 
senger  soon  returned  with  Butler's  answer, 
which  was,  that  if  the  Governor  and  any  num 
ber  of  his  friends^  would  meet  him  at  an  ap 
pointed  place,  they  would  confer  together,  and, 
no  doubt,  speedily  agree  upon  terms. 

This  reply  was  certainly  vague  and  unsatis 
factory.  It  strengthened  the  doubts  of  those 
who  had  suspicions  of  Butler's  intentions. 
Why  should  he  want  the  Governor  and  his 
friends  to  leave  their  place  of  security,  and 
meet  him  in  a  situation  where,  it  was  evident 
they  could  have  no  other  guarantee  for  their 
safety  than  his  word.  Was  it  not  mockery  in 
him  to  pretend  that  he  expected  they  would 
rely  on  the  promise  or  the  honour  of  one  who 
had  already  so  egregiously  deceived  them,  and 
had  proved  so  bitterly  their  enemy?  Yet  the 
fond  hope  of  bringing  the  distressing  state  of 
their  affairs  to  a  termination  could  not  be  slightly 
abandoned,  and  some  risk  might  well  be  in 
curred  for  the  attainment  of  such  an  object. 

It  was  therefore  agreed  that  the  Governor, 
Colonel  Dennison,  and  Mr.  Austin,  should  pro- 


OF  WYOMING.  183 

ceed  to  the  place  appointed.  But  as  it  was  thought 
imprudent  for  them  to  go  without  protection, 
they  were  accompanied  by  upwards  of  three  hun 
dred  and  fifty  men  well  armed,  comprising,  with 
the  exception  of  about  sixty  soldiers,  the  whole 
force  of  the  garrison.  The  fort  was  entrusted  to 
the'  care  of  Dr.  Watson  and  Mr.  Norwood,  the 
former  being  invested  with  the  military,  and 
the  latter,  if  we  may  so  term  it,  with  the  civil 
command  which  required  the  performance  of 
but  few  more  duties  than  he  had  hitherto  dis 
charged. 

The  Governor  and  his  party  marched  out  of 
the  fort  in  high  hopes  and  joyous  spirits,  anti 
cipating  a  speedy  and  prosperous  return  with 
their  repentant  and  submissive  enemy.  When 
they  had  proceeded  nearly  a  mile,  they  perceived 
the  enemy's  flag  about  a  furlong  before  them  at 
a  bend  of  the  road.  They  hastily  pushed  for 
ward  in  order  to  overtake  it;  but  it  receded 
as  they  advanced,  continuing  for  a  considerable 
time  at  nearly  the  same  distance  from  them, 
without  any  accompanying  force  in  view,  even 
he,  who  bore  it,  being  but  seldom  visible.  At 
length  it  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  a  defile. 
Colonel  Dennison,  who  strongly  suspected 
treachery,  had  just  advised  the  Governor  to  fol 
low,  what  he  called  a  deluding  meteor,  no  fur 
ther.  The  Governor  was  about  taking  his 


1S4  THE  BETROTHED 

advice,  and  retracing  his  steps  to  the  fort,  when 
the  stationary  appearance  of  an  unprotected 
hostile  flag  at  such  a  short  distance  from  him, 
induced  him  to  advance  toward  it.  When  the 
Wyoming  party  reached  the  entrance  of  the 
defile,  the  flag  suddenly  disappeared.  But  fur 
ther  in  advance  a  white  flag  was  perceived, 
which  soon  began  to  approach.  They  awaited 
its  arrival.  The  man  who  carried  it  stated,  that 
Butler  felt  unwilling  to  subject  himself  to  the 
hazard  of  an  interview  with  the  Governor 
while  attended  by  so  large  a  party  of  armed 
men  personally  hostile  to  him.  He  proposed 
that,  if  the  Governor  would  select  five  or  six  of 
his  friends,  Butler  would  select  the  same  num 
ber  of  his  own,  and  attended  by  these  only,  they 
should  meet  at  the  bottom  of  a  high  cliff  which 
he  pointed  out  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further 
up  the  defile.  In  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of 
Colonel  Dennison,  the  Governor  agreed  to  this 
proposal.  He  left  his  men  in  charge  of  the 
Colonel,  and  accompanied  by  Mr.  Austin  and 
five  others,  proceeded  to  the  place  appointed. 
Butler,  with  a  small  party,  had  reached  the 
ground  a  few  minutes  before  them.  They  had 
scarcely  met,  when  the  latter  retired  suddenly 
from  the  group,  and  sounded  a  small  horn.  In 
stantly  a  band  of  about  twenty  men,  who  had 
been  concealed  in  an  adjoining  hollow,  rushed 


OF  WYOMING.  185 

upon  the  Governor  and  his  friends.  They  made 
a  brave  resistance  until  four  of  them  were  killed, 
among  whom  was  Mr.  Austin.  The  Governor 
and  another  named  Dorance,  who  held  the  rank 
of  captain,  were  taken  prisoners.  But  the  lat 
ter  was  so  badly  wounded  that  he  died  shortly 
afterwards. 

On  perceiving  the  attack  thus  treacherously 
made  upon  their  friends,  Colonel  Dennison  and 
his  whole  force  hastened  forward  to  rescue  them 
or  avenge  their  fate.  They  had  proceeded  but 
a  short  way,  when  they  perceived  at  some  dis 
tance  Up  a  narrow  rugged  ravine  in  the  hill  on 
their  right,  a  flag-which  they  conceived  to  be 
the  fatal  one  that  had  decoyed  them  into  this 
snare;  but  their  anxiety  to  save  their  friends, 
whose' lives  were,  before  their  eyes,  so  perfidi 
ously  assailed,  induced  them  to-  hurry  forward 
without  stopping  to  revenge  the  injury  it  had 
done  them.  So  rapid  indeed  was  their  approach 
that  they  succeeded  in  rescuing  the  Governor; 
his  assailants  hastily  disappearing  behind  the 
rock  at  the  base  of  which  the  assault  had  taken 
place.  On  advancing  to  this  spot,  however, 
the  Wyoming  soldiers  were  struck  with  con 
sternation  to  behold  the  whole  tory  force  issu 
ing  from  the  midst  of  a  dark  glen,  to  attack 
them.  They  had  scarcely  time  to  form  their 
ranks,  which  had  been  broken  by  the  rapidity 


186  THE  BETROTHED 

of  their  advance,,  when  their  hearts  were  ap*> 
palled  by  the  sound  of  the  dreadful  savage  war- 
whoop,  which  awoke  the  trembling  echoes  of 
the  hills  behind  them.  They  turned,  and  saw 
the  ferocious  warriors  of  Brandt  rushing  impet 
uously  forward  to  attack  them.  These  savages 
had  been  lying  in  ambush  in  the  defile  where 
the  Wyoming  troops,  on  passing  to  the  aid  of 
the  Governor,  saw  the  flag  which  they  suppos 
ed  had  ensnared  them  into  their  present  ap 
palling  situation.  Appalling,  indeed,  .was  that 
situation.  A  well  armed  band  of  royalists,  at 
least  three  times  their  number,  %vas  close  up 
on  them  on  the  one  side,  while  an  infuriate 
force  of  red  warriors  had  already  attacked  them 
on  the  other.  There  was  little  time  for  deliber 
ation,  but  what  there  was,  the  Governdr  and 
Colonel  Dennison  improved  to  the  best  advan 
tage.  Their  force  was  divided  into  two  parties. 
The  Governor,  at  the  head  of  the  one  which 
was  somewhat  most  numerous,  waited  the  onset 
of  the  tories,  while  Dennison  led  the  other  to 
attack  the  savages.  The  Governor  had  not  to 
wait  long.  In  a  few  minutes,  a  volley  from  the 
tories  levelled  about  one  fourth  of  his  par 
ty  to  the  earth.  Their  companions,  however, 
avenged  them  by  a  destructive  fire  upon  the 
assailants,  which  for  some  moments  checked 
their  approach.  But  it  was  only  for  some  mo- 


OF  WYOMING.  187 

ments;  for  soon  an  overwhelming  torrent  of 
bayonets  rushed  into  the  midst  of  their  ranks, 
and  consigned  them  to  one  general  doom — 
indiscriminate,  unsparing  destruction.  Cries 
for  quarter — entreaties  for  mercy,  addressed  by 
name  to  those  who  had  received  kindness,  many 
and  great,  from  the  imploring  victims,  were  to 
tally  disregarded  on  this  dreadful  .day,  by  men 
who  had  hearts  harder  than  tigers  and  more 
unnatural  than  fiends. 

Scarcely  a  remnant  of  the  Governor's  party 
escaped  this  terrible  slaughter.  He  himself, 
for  some  time,  fought  bravely,  and  brought 
several  of  his  assailants  to  the  ground.  He 
soon,  however,  perceived  all  to  be  lost  in  this 
quarter,  and  hastened  with  about  thirty  men, 
who  followed  him,  to  reinforce  Colonel  Den- 
nison,  who  was  making  head  gallantly  against 
the  Indians.  On  reaching  the  Colonel's  party, 
the  governor  exclaimed — 

"  All's  lost  above — the  tories  have  slaughter 
ed  our  friends;  they  are  hastening  upon  our 
selves.  Our  only  chance  is,  with  desperation, 
to  cut  our  way  through  the  midst  of  the  sa 
vages.  On!  my  brave  men!  and  as  many  as 
survive,  fly  to  the  fort,  lest  it,  too,  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  unmerciful!" 

Dashing  on,,  he  lead  the  way.  Colonel  Den- 
nison  followed,,  and  their  whole  band  rushed  to 


138  THE  BETROTHED 

the  same  point.  The  astonished  savages  were 
either  overthrown  or  fell  back  before  them. 
But  the  inveterate  and  victory-flushed  tories 
were  dealing  death  upon  their  rear,  and  the 
thunder  of  the  savage  rifles,  rolling  upon  them 
from  all  directions,  also  dealt  destruction  at 
every  step.  About  forty  only  succeeded  in 
escaping  from  this  fatal  defile.  They  hasten 
ed  to  the  fort;  the  sad  remnant  of  that  gallant 
band  of  nearly  four  hundred  patriot  soldiers 
who  had  so  recently  left  it  in  sanguine  hopes 
and  joyous  spirits. 


• 

. 

OF  WYOMING.  189 

CHAPTER  XV. 


Auria's  self  is  now  but  one  wide  tomb 
For  all  its  habitants— what  better  grave? 
What  worthier  monument  ? — Oh,  cover  not 
Their  blood,  thou  earth !  nor  ye,  ye  blessed  souls 
Of  heroes  and  of  murdered  innocents, 
O  never  let  your  everlasting  cries 
Cease  round  th'  eternal  throne,  till  the  Most  High 
For  all  these  unexampled  wrongs,  hath  given 
Full,  overflowing  vengeance. 

Southey. 

Alas!  how  horror-struck  were  the  discon 
solate  inhabitants  of  Wyoming,  when  the  me 
lancholy  relics  of  their  late  band  of  brave  de 
fenders  returned  to  that  fortress  which  was 
now  their  last  asylum.  Where  were  now  the 
near  and  dear  relatives,  the  fathers,  sons,  bro 
thers,  husbands  and  lovers,  to  "whom  so  many 
heartfelt  thanks  had  that  morning  been  given, 
and  for  whom  so  many  earnest  prayers  had 
been  offered?  Ye  bereaved  mothers,  and  ye 
orphans  and  ye  widows,  cold  now  are  the 
manly  hearts  that,  but  a  few  hours  since,  beat 
so  warmly  to  your  ar.dent  pressure;  and  those 
ears  which  drank  in, -with  so  much  rapture, 
the  glowing  praises  and  fervent  blessings 
which  ye  showered  upon  them,  are  now  deaf 
to  all  sounds.  From  neither  friendship  nor  love 
can  those  clay-cold  bosoms,  late  so  generous 
and  joyous,  now  experience  any  pleasing  emo- 


190  THE  BETROTHED 


. 


tion.  The  blooming  cheek  is  now  pale;  the 
•  sparkling  eye  is  dim;  motionless  is  the  heart 
of  ardour,  and  nerveless  is  the  arm  of  strength. 
And  ye  survive  those  dear  objects!  Alas!  un 
happily  "for  yourselves,  ye  survive  them.  Ye 
are  in  sorrow;  ye  are  miserable.  Sorrow  can 
approach  them  no  more.  Their  trials  are  over; 
they  are  happy!  Yes,  they  are  all  happy;  for 
the  barbarity  of  their  foes  has  not  permitted  a 
wounded  cxne  to  survive — the  work  of  death  has 
been  carefully,  coolly,  and  effectually  accom 
plished  upon  them  all.  Oh!  ye  mourners,  do 
your  hearts  long  for  the  same  fate!  Alas! 
what  is  life,  when  those  who  constituted 
its  charm  are  no  more?  And  within  the 
walls  of  the  fort  of  Wyoming  many  a  heart, 
during  that  dismal  night,  (for  night  had  now 
come  on,)  would  have  given  a  sincere  welcome 
to  the  blow  of  the  Indian  tomahawk  or  the 
thrust  of  the  tory  bayonet  which  would  have 
terminated  their  grief,  and  sent  them  to  join, 
in  the  realms  of  spirits,  the  beloved  ones  of 
whom  they  had  been  so  cruelly  bereaved. 

Colonel  Dennison  was  now  invested  with 
the  command  of  the  small  garrison,  whose  task 
it  was  to  defend  the  fort  and  preserve  from 
destruction  the  hundreds  of  helpless  and  inno 
cent  beings  who  had  made  it  their  place  of  re 
fuge.  The  governor,  on  escaping  from  the 
fatal  defile,  had  refused  to  enter  the  fort. 


• 


'3  ««, 

OF  WYOMING.  191 

"You  are,"  said  he  to  Colonel  Dennison, 
"  better  fitted  for  the  command  than  I.  My 
unhappy  credulity  has  been  the  sole  cause  of 
the  terrible  disaster  that  has  befallen  my 
friends.  I  am  mortified;  I  am  grieved  almost 
to  heart-breaking,  to  think  of  the  fatal  infa 
tuation  which  induced  me,  in  spite  of  your 
judicious  counsel,  to  place  confidence  in  the  as 
surances  of  a  wretch  so  perfidious,  so  utterly 
wicked.  I  will  not  enter  the  fort.  I  could 
not  look  upon  the  faces  of  those  whom  my  -ob- 
stinate  folly  has  reduced  to  such  a  state  of  dan 
ger  and  distress.  Your  coolness,  your  wisdom, 
your  intrepidity  will  do  more  to  save  them,  if 
there  is  yet  for  them  any  means  of  safety,  than 
any  power  or  effort  of  mine.  Yet  I  will  not 
desert  their  cause;  I  will  hasten  to  the  districts 
on  the  Delaware.  I  will  implore  the  people 
there  to  hurry  to  your  aid;  and,  if  I  cannot. 
succeed,  I  will  fly  to  the  camp  of  Washington 
himself,  and  entreat  assistance.  Alas!  it  may 
then  be  too  late  to  assist  you.  But  if  so,  I  will 
avenge  you  —  God  protect  and  bless  you!"  said 
he;  and  the  tears  rushed  to  his  eyes,  as  he 
shook  Colonel  Dennison  by  the  hand.  He 
then  mounted  a  horse  which  was  brought  to 
him  from  the  fort,  and  rode  off. 

The  tories  and  their  allies  did  not  advance 
towards  the  fort  that  evening.   They  had,  dur- 


192  THE  BETROTHED 

ing  the  day,  performed  abundance  of  fatiguing 
work.  Besides  the  labour  of  the  severe  battle 
they  had  fought,  they  had  gone  through  the 
barbarous  toil  of  despatching  the  wounded  and 
despoiling  the  dead,  upon  all  of  whom  the  scalp- 
ing-knife  had  performed  its  horrid  office,  and 
the  diabolical  Brandt  added, -that  day,  the  in 
teguments  of  more  than  three  hundred  human 
heads  to  the  number  of  his  former  trophies  of 
conquest  and  massacre.  They  encamped  in 
•  the  vicinity  of  the  fatal  field,  and  after  their 
customary  carousal  in  celebration  of  victory, 
they  sunk  exhausted  into  a  supine  and  heavy 
state  of  repose.  .But  the  garrison  of  the  fort 
was  too  weak,  and,  perhaps,  too  much  disheart 
ened  to  take  advantage  of  this  defenceless  con 
dition  of  the  enemy. 

This  melancholy  night  was  spent  by  Agues 
Norwood  in  a  state  of  the  most  intense  and 
restless  anxiety.  At  the  first  intelligence  of 
the  disasters  of  the  day,  poignant  grief  over 
came  every  other  feeling.  But  the  exhorta 
tions  of  her  father,  and  the  exemplary  forti 
tude  of  Mary  Watson,  contributed  much  to 
restore  her  to  a  state  of  pious  submission  to 
the  awful  dispensation  that  had  taken  place; 
and  although  the  terrors  of  destruction  seemed 
to  accumulate  so  thickly  around  her,  as  to  ex 
clude  from  her  view  every  hope  of  deliverance, 


OF  WYOMING.  193 

yet  she  would  not  resign  herself  to  despair  nor 
withdraw  her  confidence  in  the  overruling 
goodness  of  the  Most  High.  Her  attention 
was,  indeed,  soon  so  entirely  absorbed  by  the 
wretchedness  of  her  friend  Isabella  Austin,  the 
only  sister  of  her  Henry,  who,  on  first  hear 
ing  of  the  death  of  her  father,  became  so  over 
powered  with  grief,  that  she  had  to  be  carried, 
in  a  state  of  insensibility,  to  her  bed-chamber. 
When  she  recovered  from  this,  she  wept  bit 
terly  for  some  time,  and  then  relapsed  into 
stupefaction.  Towards  the  morning,  she  was 
seized  with  several  fits  of  frenzy,  during  which 
she  frequently  exclaimed,  that  she  beheld  the 
ungrateful  Butler  in  the  act  of  murdering  her 
father ' 

"Ha!"  she  would  cry,  "see,  see!  oh!  save 
him!  The  horrid  steel  pierces  his  heart  Un 
grateful  Butler!  He  was  your  best  friend.  How 
could  you  do  such  a  deed!  Oh!  for  my  sake, 
could  you  not  have  spared  him!'7 

She  would  then  laugh  deliriously,  and  sink 
again  into  stupefaction.  Agnes  and  Miss  Wat 
son  became  alternately  the  nurses  of  the  poor 
sufferer,  and  in  the  intensity  of  her  grief,  al 
most  forgot  their  own. 

The  morning  arose  with  the  brightness  usual 
in  July.  The  night-clouds  fled,  and  the  ad 
vancing  sun  came  forward  joyously  and  in 
R 


194  THE  BETROTHED 

smiles,  as  if  he  were  that  day  to  witness  no 
scene  of  calamity  and  suffering  on  the  earth 
which  he  illuminated.  Colonel  Dennison,  at 
an  early  hour,  mustered  the  whole  strength  of 
his  garrison,  and  found  that  it  scarcely  num 
bered  a  hundred  men.  This  was  but  a  small 
force,  with  which  to  contend  against  that  which 
he  expected  soon  to  assail  him.  They  were 
zealous,  however,  and  determined  to  defend 
the  place  to  the  last  extremity.  To  propose  a 
capitulation,  they  knew  to  be  folly.  The  gar 
rison  of  Fort  Wintermoot  they  remembered, 
had  received  to  the  request  which  they  made  to 
Butler  to  be  informed  of  what  treatment  they 
might  expect  if  they  surrendered,  the  reply 
which  has  since  become  so  famous  for  its  la 
conic  ferocity  of  "  the  hatchet!"  Their  pros 
pects  of  making  a  successful  defence  were,  it 
is  true,  hopeless.  But  making  such  defence 
would  not  render  their  fate  more  certain  or 
more  severe.  Massacre  would  inevitably  fol 
low  submission;  nothing  worse  could  follow 
resistance.  Besides,  in  resistance  there  was 
one  chance;  that  of  protracting  their  fate,  until, 
perhaps,  the  succour  which  was  daily  expected, 
might  arrive.  This,  indeed,  was  literally  a 
forlorn  hope.  Their  utmost  efforts  could  not 
be  supposed  capable  of  resisting  the  force  of 
their  numerous  enemies  for  many  hours.  They 


OF  WYOMING.  '  195 

\vere,  however,  too  brave  to  despair;  and  with 
the  firmness  of  devoted  martyrs,  they  calmly 
awaited  the  approach  of  the  expected  foe. 

How  terrible  to  the  reflecting  mind  is  such 
an  interval  of  suspense!  In  the  hurry  of  bat 
tle  there  is  an  excitement  of  mind  which  si 
lences  the  emotions  of  fear;  and  nerves  which, 
in  moments  of  tranquillity,  would  tremble  at 
the  contemplation  of  approaching  doom,  in  the 
actual  struggle  with  that  doom,  become  ani 
mated  to  a  defiance,  and  indurated  to  an  endu 
rance  of  its  uttermost  extremity. 

At  length  the  music  of  warlike  instruments, 
floating  at  first  so  weakly  as  scarcely  to  seem 
to  agitate  the  distant  air,  became  every  mo 
ment  louder  and  louder,  until  the  neighbouring 
woods  shook,  and  the  walls  of  the  fort  itself 
reverberated  with  the  sounds.  The  blood 
stained  banner  of  toryism  soon  appeared  issu 
ing  from  the  surrounding  forest;  and  Butler  and 
Brandt,  with  the  whole  strength  of  their  san 
guinary  followers,  drew  up  before  the  devoted 
fort,  which  they  soon  made  arrangements  to 
attack. 

The  fire  of  the  small  garrison  succeeded  for 
some  time  in  keeping  the  assailants  at  a  re 
spectful  distance.  But  it  was  not  sufficient 
long  to  guard  the  entrenchments  at  every  point 
from  numbers  so  superior.  A  party  of  the 


196  THE    BETROTHED 

lories  succeeded  in  filling  the  ditch,  near  its 
northern  angle,  with  rubbish,  which  rendered 
it  passable.  In  various  other  places  repeated  at 
tempts  to  accomplish  the  same  object  had  been 
made  by  the  besiegers,  which  were  foiled  by 
the  unremitting  exertions  of  the  garrison.  To 
the  place  which  was  now  rendered  passable, 
the  assailants  soon  directed  their  chief  efforts. 
The  garrison  rushed  to  prevent  their  wall  from 
being  scaled  there.  The  besiegers  drew  back. 
But  many  other  points  being  now  undefended, 
at  several  of  them  the  trench  was  also  soon 
rendered  passable.  At  one  of  these,  Butler 
resolvea  to  make  an  effective  attempt,  cost 
what  it  would,  to  scale  the  walls,  and  take  the 
place  by  storm.  As  he  was  leading  on  a  choice 
body  of  men  for  this  purpose,  his  attention  and 
the  attention  of  all,  both  in  and  out  of  the  gar 
rison,  were  suddenly  attracted  to  an  apparition 
upon  the  rampart  opposite  to  him,  of  a  beauti 
ful  young  woman  with  her  white  garments 
flowing  loosely  around  her,  her  dark  brown 
hair  streaming  wildly  in  the  air,  her  face  pale, 
her  eyes  rolling,  and  her  hands  stretched  to 
wards  Heaven.  It  was  Isabella  Austin.  She  had 
unexpectedly  rushed  from  her  chamber,  and 
with  the  energy  and  fleetness  of  a  maniac,  while 
the  attention  of  her  friends  was  directed  towards 
the  advancing  foe,  she  ascended  the  parapet. 


OF    WYOMING.  197 

looked   wildly   around   her — then   fixing  her 
view  upon  Butler,  she  exclaimed: 

"  Ha!  he  is  there!  Heaven,  have  mercy! 
a  murderer! — my  beloved — did  ye  not  know 
I  loved  you?  Yet  ye  killed  him!  My  father 
— Oh!  Heaven,  think  of  the  deed!  The  old 
man  was  kind. — Ha! — the  thunderbolt!  it  has 
struck  my  brain.  Terrible  man!  thou  art 
accurst.  My  love  will  not  save  thee.  Fiends! 
fiends! — yes,  there  he  is — he  is  a  murderer — 
Oh!  God!  must  I  fly  to  the  arms  of  a  mur 
derer!" 

Uttering  the  last  words,  she  sprang  from  the 
wall  towards  Butler,  and  as  she  descended,  a 
random  ball — for  even  this  heart-rending  spec 
tacle  had  not  produced  -an  entire  -cessation  of 
the  firing — passed  through  her  heart.  An  ex 
clamation  of  horror  burst  from  the  defenders 
of  the  fort.  One  volley  they  fired  with  des 
perate  precision  upon  their  enemies,  which 
levelled  about  fifty  of  them  to  the  ground.  But 
it  was  their  last  velley.  Before  they  could  re 
load,  Butler  and  his  inhuman  followers  were 
within  the  ramparts,  furiously  employed  in  the 
work  of  destruction. 

Butler,  in  the  midst  of  this  affray,  became 

anxious  to  obtain  possession  of  Agnes,  lest  she 

might  fall  a  victim  to  the  savages,  who  he  knew, 

had  resolved  on  a  general  massacre,  and  who 

R2 


198  THE    BETROTHED 

were  now  surmounting  the  entrenchments  in 
all  directions.  Seeing  Colonel  Dennison  en 
gaged  with  a  soldier,  he  ordered  the  latter  to 
desist 

"Your  life,  Colonel,"  said  he*,  "shall  be 
granted  on  one  condition.  You  see  it  is  use 
less  to  resist.  Let  me  have  your  sword." 

"Name  your  condition  first,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "  It  must  be  such  as  an  honourable 
man  can  accept,  or  I  shall  die  sword  in  hand." 

"  It  is  only  to  lead  me  to  Mr.  Norwood  and 
his  daughter,  that  I  may  save  them,"  said  But 
ler.  "  No  time  is  to  be  lost — the  Indians  may 
in  another  moment,  defeat  my  intention." 

"You  are  right,"  replied  Dennison.  "I 
surrender — take  my  sword — follow  me!" 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  penetrated  the 
mingled  mass  of  destroyers  and  victims,  and 
reached  the  chamber  whefe  Mr.  Norwood  and 
his  daughter,and  Dr.  Watson  and  his  sister,  were 
calmly  awaiting  that  expected  death  which  they 
were  determined  to  share  together.  On  enter 
ing  the  apartmept,  Butler,  looking  at  Agnes, 
exclaimed, 

"I  am  fortunate! — You  are  yet  safe.  But 
you  must  be  taken  hence.  These  walls  are 
doomed  to  destruction!" 

He  then  called,  from  the  window,  to  Bate- 
man,  one  of  his  partizans,  who  has  been  al- 


OF    WYOMING.  199 

ready  mentioned  as  enrolling  the  tories  in  the 
Hemlock  Glade,  to  bring  forward  the  company 
he  commanded.  He  was  speedily  obeyed. 

"  Captain  Bateman,"  said  he,  "  here  are 
five  prisoners.  Their  safety  is  of  importance 
to  me.  I  charge  you  with  it.  Conduct  them 
to  Mr.  Norwood's  house.  I  will  join  you  there 
as  soon  as  our  business  here  is  completed." 

Agnes  and  Miss  Watson,  Mr.  Norwood,  Dr. 
Watson,  and  Colonel  Dennison,  were  thus 
snatched,  like  brands  from  amidst  a  mass  of 
flaming  destruction,  by  the  influence  which  the 
charms  of  the  former  had  over  the  savage 
heart  of  a  ruffian  who  was  destitute  of  every 
other  tender  feeling  save  that  of  love. — Love! 
ah!  no — let  not  the  name  of  the  sweetest  and 
purest,  and  most  disinterested  of  feelings  be 
profaned  by  being  applied  to  the  gross  and 
selfish,  and  sensual  passion  which  actuated  the 
heart  of  Butler  the  destroyer  of  Wyoming. 

A  detailed  description  of  the  terrible  car 
nage  that  was  now  committed  on  the  defence 
less  inmates  of  the  fort,  by  the  merciless  vic 
tors  of  this  bloody  day,  would  present  too  hor 
rible  a  picture  of  human  suffering  and  human 
depravity,  to  be  endured  by  any  reader  of  sen 
sibility.  The  monster  Brandt  seemed  to  be  in 
his  natural  element,  when  wading  through  the 
currents  of  fresh-flowing  blood  that  filled  the 


200  THE    BETROTHES 

yard  of  the  fortress  which  was  made-Xhe  butch 
ering  place  of  the  victims.  As  each  victim 
received  the  mortal  stroke,  he  rushed  upon  the 
body,  while  yet  writhing  in  the  agonies  of 
death,  and  with  his  own  knife  dissected,  with 
a  fiendish  delight,  from  the  warm  skull,  the 
scalp  which  added  one  more  trophy  to  those 
horrid  memorials  of  vengeful  victory  of  which 
he  was  so  proud.  The  number  of  these  memo 
rials  to  which  he  had  limited  his  ambition  was 
on  this  occasion  completed. 

"I  have  now  a  thousand  scalps'/'  said  he  to 
Butler.  "I  have  had  a  full  harvest  of  re 
venge.  The  people  of  my  tribe  will  extol  me. 
I  shall  be  called  Brandt  the  successful — the  de 
stroyer  of  white  men! — I  am  satisfied!" 

The  carnage  being  over,  the  dead  were  strip 
ped  of  every  thing  valuable.  They  were  then 
dragged  into  the  principal  building  of  the  fort, 
which  after  being  pillaged,  was  set  on  fire 
along  with  the  adjoining  edifices.  The  smoke 
and  flames  soon  ascended  to  the  clouds,  and 
struck  new  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  discon 
solate  prisoners  at  Mr.  Norwood's;  for  too 
well  they  knew  that  the  awful  conflagration 
which  they  beheld  was  the  funeral  pile  of 
slaughtered  hundreds  of  their  friends  and 
neighbours. 


OF    WYOMING.  201 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

If  she  will  smile  I'll  woo  her  like  the  dove, 
Soft,  fond  and  tender  every  word  shall  be ; 
But  should  she  frown  repulsive  on  my  love, 
The  tiger's  amorous  rage  shall  reign  in  me ; 
Horror  and  dread  shall  drive  her  to  my  arms, 
And  with  infuriate  love,  I'll  seize  upon  her  charms. 

Harley. 

Butler  did  not  interrupt  the  sorrowful  medi 
tations  of  Agnes  for  that  night.  He  wished 
to  render  himself  as  little  odious  to  her  as  pos 
sible.  By  treating  her  and  her  friends  with 
kindness  and  delicacy,  he  hoped  to  remove  her 
unfavourable  impressions  of  him,  and  in  some 
degree,  at  least,  ingratiate  himself  into  her  es 
teem.  The  vehemence  of  his  passion,  how 
ever,  would  not  permit  him  long  to  defer  his 
attempts  to  gain  her  to  his  purpose.  He  vi 
sited  her  the  next  day. 

"Miss  Norwood,"  said  he,  "I  truly  rejoice 
that  you  and  your  father  were  yesterday  rescued 
from  the  unsparing  hands  of  the  savages.  This 
is  twice  I  have  had  the  happiness  of  rendering 
you  such  service.  May  I  claim  some  portion 
of  gratitude  for  my  efforts?" 

"  If  your  general  conduct  were  such,"  said 
she,  "as  to  warrant  my  yielding  you  any  es 
teem,  I  would  freely  acknowledge  gratitude. 
For  the  particular  services  of  which  you  speak, 


202  THE  BETROTHED 

however,  receive  my  thanks.  But  beware  lest 
you  conceive  them  to  be  thanks  accompanied 
by  any  other  feeling  than  horror  at  the  num 
berless  deeds  of  cruelty  of  which  you  have 
been  guilty." 

"My  fair  reprehender,"  he  replied,  "  thou 
only  utterest  such  sentiments  as  I  expected. 
Thy  reproach,  therefore,  does  not  offend  me. 
But  dost  thou  not  consider  the  circumstances 
that  have  influenced  my  conduct,  and,  in  spite 
of  myself,  compelled  me  to  act  as  I  have  done. 
My  conscience  is  hostile  to  the  rebel  cause.  My 
father  was  murdered  by  the  whigs.  I  was  de 
nounced  by  them.  I  fought  them  often.  I  have 
triumphed  over  them,  and  been  triumphed  over 
by  them.  They  have  put  me  into  prison;  they 
have  doomed  me  to  death.  How  I  was  rescu 
ed  thou  hast  heard." 

"Ha!  ungenerous  man!"  said  she, interrupt 
ing  him,  "the  faithful  maid  to  whom  thou 
didst  owe  thy  rescue,  has  been  killed  by  thy 
cruelty.  Thou  didst  desert  her;  she  pined  in 
secret,  but  reproached  -thee  not.  At  length, 
her  reason  gave  way  before  the  pressure  of  ca 
lamity  and  grief  inflicted  by  thee,  for  thou  didst 
slay  her  father. — " 

"Fair  Agnes'."  said  he,  " thou  art  wrong.  I 
did  not.  Another  slew  him  in  the  scuffle!" 

"  But  thy  treachery  ensnared  him  to  destruc- 


OF  WYOMING.  203 

tion.  Poor  Isabella!  she  is  no  more.  She 
died  awfully  insane,  the  victim  of  thy  ingrati 
tude  and  thy  crimes!'7 

"I  grieve  for  her  death,  for  she  loved  me. 
But  if  I  could  not  love  her,  am  I  to  blame?  For 
a  time  I  tried  to  love  her,  and  thought  I  had 
succeeded.  But  I  saw  you,  and  found  I  was 
mistaken.  The  soft  regard — perhaps  I  should 
rather  call  it,  the  petty  fondness — I  felt  for 
her,  bore  no  comparison,  in  intensity,  to  the 
all-absorbing  passion  I  feel  for  you.  Had  I 
never  seen  you,  perhaps,  I  might  not  have  been 
ungrateful  to  her.  To  your  charms  alone  has 
my  ingratitude  been  owing.  Can  you  blame 
me  for  this?" 

11  Thy  love  forme!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh, 
thou  deceitful  and  barbarous  man,  I  am  truly 
unfortunate  in  being  the  object  of  thy  love. 
Alas!  if  thou  wouldst  acquire  any  portion  of  my 
regard,  talk  not  to  me  of  love.  I  cannot  hear 
thee  without  loathing." 

"Fair  Agnes,"  he  replied,  "dost  thou  not 
know  love  to  be  an  involuntary  impulse?  If  I 
could  have  compelled  myself  to  love  Isabella,  I 
might  then  have  been  justly  charged  with  in 
gratitude.  If  I  could  now  refrain  from  loving 
thee,  thou  mightest  properly  reproach  me  for 
cherishing  a  feeling  thou  wilt  not,  perhaps  canst 
not,  return — thou  mightest  rightly  reprimand 


£04  THE  BETROTHED 

me  for  troubling  thee  with  a  subject  which  thou 
loathest.  Oh!  Agnes,  if  thou  wert  mine,  thy 
virtues  would  chase  away  my  vices.  I  would 
become  what  thou  shouldst  choose  to  make  me. 
But  without  thee,  I  feel  I  can  never  be  virtu 
ous — I  can  never  be  happy." 

"This  is  rhapsody — it  is  delusion,"  she  re 
plied.  "Thou  dost  not  want  strength  of  mind. 
Struggle  to  win  the  victory  over  thy  bad  pas 
sions.  It  will  be  the  most  glorious  thou  hast 
ever  gained,  and  will  afford  thee  more  satisfac 
tion  than  any  triumph  whether  of  successful 
war  or  prosperous  ambition.'^ 

"Thou  dost  throw  away  thy  counsel,  my 
lovely  adviser,"  said  he,  looking  fondly  on  her 
countenance,  which  animated  by  her  subject, 
had  brightened,  during  her  observations,  into  a 
most  beautiful  glow.  "By  heaven,  I  would 
not  resign  my  love  for  thee  for  an  empire!  It 
is  the  sweetest  sensation  that  ever  animated  my 
frame.  At  this  moment  it  sweeps  through  my 
veins  with  a  thrill  of  delight,  which  I  would  not 
forfeit  for  the  riches  of  the  Indies.  — Thou  must 
be  mine,  I  tell  thee,  ere  long,  or  perdition  shall 
seize  us  both! — Till  to-morrow  think  of  the 
fervour  of  my  passion.  I  must  leave  thee  till 
then." 

He  had  heard  the  sound  of  a  bugle  which 
was  the  signal  for  a  joint-muster  of  the  Indians 


OF  WYOMING.  205  , 

and  tories,  in  6rder  to  perform  some  military 
mancBuvres  previous  to  a  carousal  they  were  to 
hold  in  the  afternoon,  in  celebrating  their  late 
decisive  victories.  On  such  celebrations,  it  was 
the  practice  of  the  Mohawks  to  sacrifice  some 
prisoners  to  the  manes  of  their  slain  warriors. 
But  so  complete  had  been  the  previous  day's 
slaughter  in  the  fort,  that  no  prisoners  had  been 
made,  except  those-  who  fell,  as  we  have  seen, 
into  the  hands  of  Butler.  This  barbarous  part 
of  their  ceremonies,  therefore,  the  Indians  had 
no  means  of  performing  unless  Butler  should 
give  up  some  of  his  prisoners  for  the  purpose. 
Brandt  made  an  application  to  this  effect.  But 
Butler's  design  of  conciliating  Agnes  prevented 
him  from  complying.  He  reminded  Brandt 
that  the  glory  of  obtaining  so  large  a  number  of 
scalps  as  he  now  possessed,  more  than  compen 
sated  for  the  want  of  prisoners;  and  that,  as  to 
the  few  he  had  himself  taken,  he  considered 
he  was  well  entitled  to  the  entire  disposal  of 
them,  especially  as  he  had  not  interfered  with 
the  operations  of  Brandt  in  securing  as  many 
scalps  as  he  had  thought  proper.  He  also  ob 
served  that  had  the  Mohawks  been  less  eager 
to  seize  upon  these  trophies  of  victory,  they 
would  not  have  destroyed  all  their  enemies 
upon  the  spot,  and  might  now  have  been  in 
possession  of  many  prisoners.  Brandt  acqui- 
s 


206  THE    BETROTHED 

esced  in  the  propriety  of  these  remarks,  and 
the  captives  of  Butler  were  permitted  to  re 
main  solely  at  his  own  disposal.  ' 

During  the  carousal,  or,  as  the  Indians  term 
ed  it,  the  Feast  of  Victory,  on  this  occasion, 
every  species  of  riot  and  debauchery  was  in 
dulged  in  to  excess.  To  describe  a  scene  of  such 
frantic  folly  and  disgusting  dissipation,  would 
be  to  give  a  representation  of  human  depravity 
and  degradation,  neither  agreeable  to  write 
nor  desirable  to  read.  While  in  a  state  of  in 
toxication,  an  altercation,  as  was  to  have  been 
expected,  took  place  between  some  of  the  In 
dians  and  the  tories,  which  the  interference  of 
their  chiefs  alone  prevented  from  becoming  se 
rious  and  bloody.  In  consequence  of  this,  it 
was  agreed  by  Butler  and  Brandt,  that,  while 
the  Indians  remained  in  the  Valley,  they  should 
encamp  at  a  distance  from  the  tories,  but  not 
so  far  off  as  to  prevent  the  maintenance  of 
friendly  intercourse,  or  a  speedy  junction  in 
case  of  either  being  attacked  by  an  enemy. 

On  visiting  Agnes  the  next  day,  Butler  ap 
proached  her  with  the  self-satisfied  air  of  a 
wooer  who  thinks  he  can  plead  the  merit  of 
having  performed  an  action  of  a  nature  very 
pleasing  to  his  mistress. 

"My  sweet  Agnes,"  said  he,  "  you  will  not 
consider  me  destitute  of  all  claim  upon  your 


OP    WYOMING.  207 

esteem,  when  I  inform  you,  that,  but  for  my 
exertions  your  fellow  captives  would  have  been 
yesterday  sacrificed  by  the  savages  in  confor 
mity  with  their  ferocious  customs.  Do  I  merit 
no  portion  of  gratitude  for  saving  them?" 

"I  do,  indeed,"  she  replied,  "and  they  too 
must  feel  grateful  to  you  for  this. — And  oh! 
if  you  were  to  conduct  us  to  a  place  of  safety 
and  restore  us  to  liberty;  abandon  the  wicked 
schemes  in  which  you  are  engaged ;  repent  of 
the  crimes  and  the  cruelties  you  have  commit 
ted  upon  your  own  kindred  and  people;  and 
by  your  future  conduct  make  some  atonement 
for  them — then  might  you  yet  require  respect 
upon  earth  and  forgiveness  from  Heaven." 

"Agnes,"  said  he,  "I  know  that  you  think 
me  a  villain,  but  I  did  not  suppose  that  you 
thought  me  a  fool.  Were  I  to  do  what  you 
say,  and  throw  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  the 
whigs,  in  all  the  contrition  of  a  sincere  peni 
tent,  would  not  the  halter  be  my  fate?  My 
father's  death  admonishes  me  not  to  trust  my 
enemies.  I  have  avenged  him  amply,  and, 
therefore,  my  spirit  rejoices  in  my  career.  But 
I  have  no  desire- to  become  the  victim  of  that 
career,  by  trusting  to  the  mercy  of  those  to 
whose  friends  I  have  shown  none.  No;  I  can 
form  no  connexion  with  the  rebels — I  can 
make  no  peace  with  them.  But  for  thy  sake, 


208  THE    BETROTHED 

fair  charmer,  I  can,  in  future,  be  less  virulent 
in  my  resentment — less  destructive  in  my  re 
venge.  Nay,  hear  me  further;  if  them  wilt 
comply  with  my  wishes,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine, 
I  will  set  thy  friends  at  liberty,  I  will  with 
draw  from  all  scenes  of  strife — I  will  retire 
to  Canada  or  Europe,  and  though  I  will  not 
makepeace  with  the  rebels,  I -will  no  more  lift 
my  hand  against  them.  Say,  fair  Agnes,  wilt 
thou  sign  the  treaty? 

''Sign  a  treaty  to  become  .thine!"  she  ex 
claimed,  "no;  never!  My  reason  forbids  it, 
my  heart  shrinks  from  it,  and  my  vows  render 
it  impossible.  Expect  it  not,  I  entreat  thee; 
and  if  thou  wouldst  jnot  make  me  utterly  abhor 
thee,  persecute  me  no  more  with  thy  applica 
tions." 

"  By  Heaven,"  he  ejaculated,  "  I  have  been 
patient  long  enough  with  this  girl's  obstinacy.— 
Maiden,  I  shall  not  be  so  easily  baffled  in  my 
wishes,  as  thou  thinkest.  Mine  thou  must  be.  I 
find  that  the  mild  means  of  persuasion  will  not 
prevail  with  thee.  But  thou  art  in  my  power — 
thy  father — thy  friends  are  in  my  power.  I  can 
bring  force — terror — torture  to  my  aid.  I  have 
but  to  say  the  word,  and  they  are  borne  to  the 
stake.  By  six  this  evening  thou  shalt  consent 
to  be  mine  or  they  shall — die!" 

She  heard  the  dreadful  threat  pronounced 


OF    WYOMING.  209 

with  the  tone,  and  accompanied  by  the  looks 
of  a  demon,  and  she  knew  he  had.daringness 
and  cruelty  enough  to  perform  it.  Her  terri 
fied  imagination  overcame  her  fortitude.  She 
caught  him  as  he  was  hastily  retiring,  and,  al 
though  she  felt  as  if  even  the  touch  of  his  gar 
ment  were  pollution,  she  clung  to  his  arm  in 
an  imploring  attitude,  and  with  a  voice  and 
look  of  sorrow  that  would  have  softened  a 
fiend,  "Oh!  if  thy  heart  be  human,"  she  said, 
"have  pity,  pity  on  my  wretchedness!" 

"  Have  pity  on  thyself,"  he  replied,  "have 
pity  on  me — on  thy  father — on  thy  friends! — 
Reflect  till  six!"  So  saying  he  left  the  room, 
and  under  the  impression  that  the  persuasions 
of  Miss  Watson,  whose  life  depended  on  her 
decision,  might  prevail  on  her  to  comply,  he 
ordered  that  young  lady  into  her  apartment. 
He  himself  hastened  to  that  of  Mr.  Norwood. 

"  I  come,"  said  he,  "  my  reverend  friend,  on 
an  errand  of  much  consequence  to  yourself,  to 
your  daughter,  and  to  all  your  fellow  prison 
ers.  You  know  the  violence  of  my  love  for 
Agnes.  'You  also  know  her  obstinate  antipathy 
to  me.  She  is  in  my  power.  I  might  seize 
upon  her  charms  by  force.  But  my  wishes  are 
for  an  honourable  union  with  her.  No  per 
suasions  of  mine  can  induce  her  to  consent. 
Exert  your  authority.  Should  you  succeed, 

8* 


210  THE    BETROTHED 

you  and  your  friends  shall  be  set  at  liberty.  I 
shall  retire  from  the  contest  against  the  whigs, 
and  reside  in  tranquillity  either  in  Canada  or 
England." 

"  When  I  was  formerly  your  prisoner"  re 
plied  Mr.  Norwood,  "you  obtained  my  an 
swer  to  a  similar  proposal.  My  answer  now 
shall  be  the  same  that  it  was  then;  for  my 
mind  is  unchanged  on  the  subject.  I  will  not 
comply  with  your  wishes." 

"Then  hear  thy  doom,  foolish,  obstinate 
man,"  said  Butler,  in  a  tone  of  fierce  determin 
ation — "  and  the  doom  of  thy  captive  friends 
— ye  shall,  should  she  not  consent  to  save  you, 
be  delivered  up  by  the  dawn  to-morrow,  to  the 
Mohawks,  who,  at  noon,  shall  bind  you  to  the 
stake,  and  sacrifice  you  upon  the  flaming  fag 
gots,  according  to  the  customs  of  their  tribe!" 

"  When  thou  shalt  have  done  that,  cruel 
man!"  said  Mr.  Norwood,  "thou  shalt  have 
done  thy  worst.  I  pray  to  the  gracious  Power 
who  can  disconcert  all  the  designs  of  the  wick 
ed,  and  into  whose  hands  I  commit  my  fate 
and  that  of  my  friends,  that,  be  our  destiny 
and  that  of  my  daughter  what  they  may,  he 
will  avert  from  her  what  I  would  deem  the 
most  direful  of  all  misfortunes,  a  union  with 
thee!" 

"Rash  man,"  replied  Butler,  foaming  with 


OF  WYOMING.  211 

rage,  ."  it  ill  becomes  thy  prudence  when  under 
the  paw  of  the  lion,  to  goad  him  to  wrath ;  and 
it  is  but  a  poor  display  of  clerical  sanctity  to 
convey  reproof  in  the  words  of  insolence.  I 
swear  to  thee,  thou  shalt  soon  be  taught  thy 
own  pulpit  doctrine  of  repentance.  Either  that 
doom,  which  seems  to  thee  the  most  direful  of 
misfortunes,  shall  overtake  thee — thy  daugh 
ter  shall  be  mine — or  thou  shalt  die!" 

He  pronounced  the  last  word  with  a  terrible 
emphasis;  and  casting  on  Mr.  Norwood  the 
scowl  of  a  fiend,  he  hurried  furiously  from  the 
apartment. 

At  the  threatened  hour  of  six,  the  enamoured 
tyrant  waited  on  Agnes  to  ascertain  her  decision. 
He  dismissed  Miss  Watson  sternly,  for  he  per 
ceived  from  the  mixture  of  detestation  and  defi 
ance  with  which  she  regarded  him  on  his  en 
trance,  that  she  had  not  been  a' very  zealous 
advocate  for  either  his  interest  or  her  own. 

"  And  now,  my  fair  one,"  said  he,  as  he 
closed  the  door  after  Miss  Watson's  departure, 
"I  want  to  know  whether  thou  hast  decided 
on  peace  or  war,  and  art  resolved  that  thy  fa 
ther  and  his  friends  shall  live  or  die?" 

"  Alas!  to  what  straits  does  thy  cruelty  drive 
me!"  said  she.  "If  my  own  death  will  satisfy 
thy  barbarous  wishes,  Oh!  I  intreat  thee  to  in- 


212  THE  BETROTHED 

flict  it,  and  spare  my  unoffending  parent  and 
thy  other  intended  victims?" 

"Thy  death! — Nonsense!"  he  exclaimed — 
"  Thou  dost  trifle  with  me.  I  am  serious.  Thou 
knowest  that  it  is  thy  love — or  thy  person,  if  I 
cannot  have  thy  love — and  not  thy  death  that  I 
desire.  Thy  death!  No;  I  would  be  miserable 
if  thou  shouldst  die  before  I  possessed  thee! — 
But  now  for  thy  decision?  Wilt  thou  be  mine, 
or  shall  the  victims  die?" 

"Hear  me,"  she  said,  assuming  a  sudden 
energy  inspired  by  the  utter  hopelessness  of  her 
situation — "Unhappy  and  inhuman  tyrant,  thou 
mayest  sacrifice  those  victims;  but  their  death 
shall  avail  thee  nothing.  Thine  I  never  will 
be.  If  they  die,  I  shall  die  also.  Their  de 
struction  and  mine,  shall  only  aggravate  thy 
crimes  in  the  sight  of  God  and  men.  It  will 
sink  thy  soul  more  deeply  into  perdition,  and 
render  thy  memory  more  accurst." 

"Ha!  sorceress!"  he  cried,  "dost  thou  too 
speak  the  language  of  defiance?  Well  may  a  sin 
ner  like  me  be  pardoned  some  rudeness  when 
holy  men  and  gentle  ladies  can  assume  the  tone 
of  violence  and  the  language  of  menace.  But, 
fair  one,  I  am  made  of  materials  too  stern  and 
unyielding  to  be  frightened  by  the  denunciations 
of  a  maiden's  wrath,  or  even  the  curses  of  a 
priest  I  am  master  of  thy  destiny,  and  of  the 


OP  WYOMING.  213 

fate  of  thy  friends,  and  they  shall  be  wielded 
to  suit  my  purpose.  Since  thy  resolution  is  ta 
ken,  so  is  mine.  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  at 
ten!" 

He  withdrew;  his  countenance  expressing 
the  settled  sternness  of  determined  malignancy, 
rather  than  the  violence  of  irresolute  rage. 


214  THE  BETROTHED 


CHAP.  XVII. 


How  shall  I  woo  her?  she  is  obstinate— 
As  well  attempt  the  firm-set  rocks  to  move 
With  the  soft  motion  of  the  zephyrs  wing, 
As  try  persuasion  on  her.     Hut  the  bolts 
Launched  by  the  red  artillery  of  the  sky 
Can  to  their  entrails  n  nil  the  solid  rocks: 
And  there's  a  thunder  that  can  shake  the  mind, 
Formed  by  the  raging  agony  of  terror: 
With  it  I'll  woo  her  till  her  heart  be  rent, 
And  moulded  into  trembling  pliancy. 

Harley. 


What  a  terrible  night  of  hopeless  sorrow  did 
Agnes  Norwood  spend  in  her  lonely  chamber! 
She  was, in  utter  solitude,  left  a  prey  to  her  own 
despairing  thoughts  without  a  counsellor  or  a 
companion.  Her  tyrant  had  forbidden  Miss 
Watson  to  be  again  admitted  to  her,  for  he  truly 
conjectured  that,  disregarding  all  selfish  consid 
erations,  she  had  strengthened,  by  her  influence 
and  arguments,  the  opposition  of  Agnes  to  his 
wishes.  He  had,  therefore,  ordered  her  to  be 
elsewhere  closely  confined,  and  to  prepare  for 
death  the  next  day.  Miss  Watson  heard  her  sen 
tence  with  the  calmest  resignation.  She  felt  her 
self  a  martyr  in  a  just  cause,  and  she  determined 
that  her  fortitude  should  not  be  overcome  by 
any  consequence,  however  terrific,  that  should 
arise  from  having  done  her  duty.  She  had,  in 
deed,  been  always  of  a  resigned  and  enduring 


OP  WYOMING.  215 

temper;  and  death  had  of  late  too  frequently 
appeared  to  her  and  threatened  her  in  his  most 
hideous  forms,  for  her  to  bo  now  surprised  if  he 
should  overtake  her  at  last.  She  had  witnessed 
the  destruction  of  hundreds  of  beloved  friends 
and  respected  neighbours.  It  was  by  a  miracle 
that  astonished  herself,  that  she  had  hitherto 
survived.  She  could  not  always  expect  such 
a  special  interference  of  Providence.  What 
greater  claim  had  she  upon  life  than  those  who 
had  already  fallen?  She  could  not  conceive  of 
any.  To  the  dispensation,  therefore,  now 
awarded  her,  she  was  resolved  to  submit  as  her 
duty  dictated,  without  repining  and  without 
complaint 

The  character  of  Agnes  was  not  so  stoical. 
Her  disposition  was  much  more  sensitive,  yet 
she  was  equally  firm  in  her  adherence  to  duty. 
She  had  besides,  causes  of  inquietude  from  which 
her  friend  was  exempt.  The  worst  that  could 
happen  to  Miss  Watson  was  death.  She  had 
not,  like  Agnes,  the  fate  of  others  in  her  hands. 
No  one  could  charge  his  suffering  to  her  obsti 
nacy.  But  Agnes! — dreadful  consideration! — 
the  life  of  even  thy  own  father  depends  on  thy 
will!  And  wilt  thou  not  save  him? — And  thy 
three  other  friends — are  they  to  die  too,  be 
cause  thou  wilt  not  yield  to  the  solicitations  of 
a  man  who  would  wed  thee?  Alas!  it  must  be 


S16  THE  BETROTHED 

so.  Thou  canst  not  break  vows  already  made. 
Thou  art  the  betrothed  of  another,  thy  fidelity 
to  whom  no  accumulation  of  earthly  calamities 
can  ever  shake.  To  be  unfaithful  to  him  would 
be  to  be  unfaithful  to  Heaven  and  thy  own 
soul — to  be  a  traitor  to  thy  own  heart.  It  can 
not  be.  Love,  triumphant  love  assists  thee 
now  in  the  terrible  task  that  duty  requires  thee 
to  perform.  The  trial  is  severe,  but  thou  art 
firm.  Thy  sufferings  are  great,  but  thou  .wilt 
endure  without  yielding  to  crime— thy  heart 
may  break,  but  it  will  not  be  false. 

Towards  the  morning,  as  the  sleepless  sufferer 
lay  meditating  on  the  horrors  of  her  destiny,  the 
door,  to  which  her  eyes  were  directed,  slowly 
opened,  and  a  soldier  cautiously  entered.  Per 
ceiving  her  awake,  he  approached,  put  a  letter 
into  her  hand,  and  whispered,  "  when  you  read 
this,  destroy  it,  or  it  may  destroy  me.  Your 
father  has  paid  me  for  delivering  it.  This  will 
be  an  awful  day !  I  am  sorry  I  can  do  no  more 
for  either  you  or  him." 

He  departed  without  giving  her  time  to  re 
ply.  She  opened  the  letter.  There  was  suffi 
cient  day-light  to  enable  her  to  read  as  follows. 

"My.  daughter,  I  tremble  lest  you  should  be 
frightened  into  submission  to  the  tyrant.  Re 
member  your  vows  of  betrothment.  They 
are  as  sacred  and  binding  as  the  vows  of  mar- 


OF  WYOMING,  217 

r-:age  itself.  Let  no  peril  nor  calamity  shake 
yeur  fidelity  to  them.  Care  nothing  for  me. 
Let  not  my  fate  have  the  weight  of  a  feather  in 
opposition  to  the  obligation  of  your  solemn 
oath.  I  am  resigned,  my  daughter,  to  the 
death  which  awaits  me.  Why  should  I  wish  to 
live,  since  I  have  witnessed  the  destruction  of 
my  beloved  friends  and  neighbours — the  zeal 
ous  hearers  of  the  word  of  life  which  I  experi 
enced  so  much  delight  in  delivering  to  them — 
the  pious  communicants  of  the  cup  of  salvation 
which  I  felt  it  so  glorious  a  privilege  to  distrib 
ute  among  them.  They  are  gone;  I  have  noth 
ing  to  do  but  to  follow.  To  separate  from  thee, 
my  child,  I  confess,  is  a  heavy  affliction,  but 
it  is  not  so  heavy  as  would  be  the  knowledge, 
that  thou  wert  degraded  and  criminal.  Perse 
verance  in  virtue,  on  this  awful  occasion,  is 
the  earnest  and  last  injunction — and  that  the 
Almighty  may  bless  and  protect  thee  for  ever, 
is  the  anxious  prayer — of  thy  father." 

At  ten  o'clock,  Butler,  according  to  his 
threat,  visited  her.  "A  chance  still  remains 
for  thy  friends,"  said  he.  "Although  I  have 
promised  them  to  the  Indians,  and  the  exult 
ing  Brandt  has  all  things  prepared  for  their 
execution,  thou  canst  yet  save  them.  Say  only 
that  thou  wilt  be»mine.  I  shall  recall  my  pro 
mise  to  the  Mohawks.  I  will  relinquish  their 
T 


218  THE  BETROTHED 

confederacy,  and  fulfil  every  item  of  the  pro 
posal  I  have  made  to  thee."  • 

"Thou  dost  tempt  me  in  vain,"  she  replied. 
"I  will  not  be  criminal;  I  will  not  break  the 
oath  of  my  betrothment  to  Henry  Austin, 
though  all  the  wicked  and  cruel  powers  of  men 
and  fiends  should  conspire  to  accumulate  hor 
rors  upon  me  for  the  refusal!" 

"Thou  hast  named  my  rival — my  detested 
rival!"  cried  he.  "  From  thee  his  name  comes 
with  a  torturing — a  malignant  influence.  It 
has  sealed  the  doom  of  thy  friends,  and  con 
verted  my  wish  to  persuade,  into  a  resolution 
to  compel  thee." 

At  this  moment,  the  music  of  the  "  Dead 
March,"  was  heard.  He  knew  its  meaning. 
He  led  her  to  the  window.  A  melancholy 
procession  was  approaching.  She  beheld  it; 
her  heart  sunk — the  light  left  her  eyes — she 
became  dizzy,  and  had  she  not  hasted  to  a 
seat,  she  would  have  fallen  upon  the  floor. 
She  had  seen  the  prisoners — those  friends  so 
dear  to  her  heart,  bound  and  seated  in  a  cart — 
her  father  and  Miss  Watson  on  the  one  side, 
and  Dr.  Watson  and  Colonel  Dennison  on  the 
other,  moving  towards  the  place  of  execution. 

"Thou  seest  that  I  have  made  no  empty 
threats!"  said  the  tyrant,  exirttingly.  "  I  per 
ceive  thou  dost  pity  the  plight  of  those,  poor 


OF  WYOMING.  219 

victims  of  thy  obstinacy.  Wilt  thou  save  them? 
Shall  I  stop  the  death-going  procession,  and 
restore  those  beloved  ones,  free  and  in  safety, 
to  thy  arms?  Say  only  thou  wilt  be  mine,  and 
this  shall  be  done." 

"I  cannot — 0!  God  forgive  me!"  She  ex 
claimed,  "  if  I  am  wrongly  obstinate — obstinate 
even  to  the  destruction  of  my  revered  parent!" 

"Save  thy  father!"  cried  the  tyrant.  "I 
had  resolved  no  more  to  entreat,  but  to  com 
mand  thee — to  force  thee  to  yield.  But 
once  more,  for  the  sake  of  those  victims,  I  re 
sort  to  entreaty." 

UI  am  firm.  Heaven  has  strengthened  me," 
she  said  with  a  tone  and  air  of  determination, 
which  aroused  the  wrath  of  the  tyrant.  • 

He  exclaimed,  "be  it  so  then,  perverse  girl! 
They  shall  die,  whilst  thou  shalt  profit  nothing. 
Thou  shalt  even  behold  them  sacrificed,  that 
thou  mayst  witness  the  firmness  of  my  re 
solves.  Thy  charms  shall  then  be  mine  with 
out  more  parley.  Look  upon  that  couch.  Thou 
shalt  be  brought  back  from  the  scene  of  death, 
and  there — there,  while  the  cries  of  the  sufferers, 
are  still  ringing  in  thy  ears,  shall  thy  charms 
become  mine.  Thy  consent  I  will  ask  not.'  I 
have  strength  sufficient  to  seize  upon  happi 
ness. — I  shall  riot  on  thy  loveliness,  until  my 
Jonging  soul  shall  be  satiated  with  beauty!" 


220  THE  BETROTHED 

He  ordered  her  sentinel  to  assist  him  in  con 
ducting  her  to  a  light  wagon  which  was  in 
waiting.  He  placed  her  on  a  chair  in  this  ve 
hicle,  and  seating  himself  beside  her,  they  fol 
lowed,  at  a  slow  space,  the  melancholy  proces 
sion  already  noticed,  to  the  place  appointed  for 
the  dreadful  sacrifice.  They  reached  it  in  about 
half  an  hour.  It  was  a  large  field  adjoining 
a  farm-house,  the  owners  of  which  had  been 
slaughtered  at  the  capture  of  the  fort.  The 
house  stood  southward  from  the  field,  and  be 
tween  them  was  a  small  garden,  overlooked  by 
a  balcony.  With  a  sternness  of  purpose  and  a 
refinement  of  cruelty  characteristic  of  his  in 
fernal  mind,  Butler  conducted  the  trembling 
Agnes*  to  this  balcony,  that  she  might,  in  pur 
suance  of  his  threats,  witness  the  horrible  •sac 
rifice,  for  the  completion  of  which  every  thing 
was  now  ready.  He  seated  himself  beside  her, 
and,  with  barbarous  oificiousness,  pointed  out 
the  arrangements  of  the  scene. 

The  field  rose  in  a  gentle  ascent  towards  the 
north,  on  which  side  and  on  the  east,  it  was 
bounded  by  a  wood  of  considerable  thickness-. 
A  small  rivulet  which  flowed  into  the  stream 
of  the  Sharon,  formed  its  border  on  the  west. 
Upon  or  near  the  bank  of  this  rivulet,  the  to- 
ries  had  taken  their  station,  as  spectators,  leav 
ing  to  the  Indians,  the  office  of  being  the  per- 


OF  WYOMING.  221 

formers  in  the  dreadful  drama.  The  lattev 
were  ranged  near  the  centre  of  the  field.  Im 
mediately  in  their  front,  between  them  and  the 
house,  were  placed,  in  a  line,  four  large  piles 
of  wood,  about  eight  or  ten  yards  asunder.  To 
a  stake  erected  in  the  centre  of  each  of  these 
piles,  and  projecting  five  or  six  feet  above 
them,  was  bound  one  of  the  victims.  The  piles 
were  intermixed  with  a  quantity  of  dried  leaves 
and  straw,  plentifully  besprinkled  with  tar, 
in  order  to  facilitate  the  kindling  of  the  mass.  A 
burning'pile  which  had  been  kindled  somewhat 
nearer  the  house,  sent  up  to  the  air  its  mingling 
volumes  of  flames  and  smoke,  which  occasional 
ly  bent  their  red  and  dusky  streams  towards  the 
prisoners,  as  if  to  familiarize  them  with  their 
fierceness  ere  they  should  envelope  them  in 
their  fatal  folds.  Round  this  burning  pile  stood 
four  Indians,  of  peculiarly  fierce  aspects',  who 
were  appointed  as  executioners.  They  were 
kindling  the  brands  with  which  they  were  to 
fire  the  combustible  piles,  upon  which  the  pri 
soners  were  bound.  This  last  act  of  prepara 
tion  was,  at  length,  completed,  and  these  fero 
cious  figures  only  awaited  the  signal  which 
Brandt,  who  stood  near  the  balcony,  was  to 
give,  at  the  intimation  of  Butler,  to  perform 
their  horrid  office. 

A  solemn  silence  pervaded  the  whole  field 

T2 


222  THE  BETROTHED 

Every  eye  was  fixed,  with  intense  interest, 
upon  the  innocent  victims  of  barbarous  cus 
toms  and  lawless  and  revengeful  passions.  A 
heavy  horror  hung  over  the  scene  which  seem 
ed  to  paralyze  motion  and  to  diffuse  melancholy 
through  all  surrounding  nature.  At  length  the 
demon  of  the  mournful  drama  arose,  and  with  a 
smile  of  malignant  triumph,  looked  first  towards 
the  prisoners,  then  upon  the  horror-struck  fair- 
one  beside  him.  She  was  pale  as  sackcloth,  her 
lips  quivered,  her  eyes  were  swollen,  her 
heart  was  faint;  but  her  soul  looked- towards 
Heaven,  was  fixed  upon  truth,  and  resolved  on 
an  adherence  to  duty. 

"Fair-one,"  said  the  demon,  "look  on  thy 
friends.  The  balance  of  their  fate  is  suspended. 

Life  and  death  are  in  the  scales.      One  word 
» 

from  thee  will  make  either  preponderate.  I 
ask,  for  the  last  time,  wilt  thou  be  mine?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  towards  Heaven,  and 
grasping  with  her  whole  soul  at  the  'unfailing 
support  of  conscious  rectitude,  she  committed 
the  issue  of  all  to  the  protection  of  her  Maker, 
and  firmly  answered — "No!" 

The  tyrant  turned  from  her  with  fury 
streaming  from  his  eyes.  He  gave  a  signal  to 
Brandt,  who  instantly  raised  the  death  shout; 
and  the  executioners,  flourishing  their  flaming 
brands  in  the  air,  were  hastening  to  fire  the 


OF    WYOMING.  223 

fatal  piles,  when  a  man,  in  the  garb  of  a  pro 
phet,  bearing  the  consecrated  wand  of  Manetto, 
rushed  impetuously  from  the  woods,  and  com 
manded  them  to  forbear. 

"Stand  back!"  said  he,  "  Mohawks!  In 
the  name  of  the  Great  Spirit,  I  charge  you  to 
cast  away  your  brands,  and  harm  not  the  inno 
cent  at  these  stakes,  on  peril  of  the  vengeance 
of  the  Almighty!-" 

The  prophetic  symbol  which  he  displayed, 
together  with  the  boldness  and  energy  of  his 
manner,  and  the  awfulness  of  his  words,  were 
successful.  The  executioners,  and  indeed  all 
the  Indians  who  beheld  him,  except  the  un- 
tameable  Brandt,  respected  the  words  of  the 
prophet,  and  feared  the  denunciation  delivered 
so  impressively  in  the  name  of  the  Great 
Spirit.  Even  Brandt  felt  tremulous  at  the 
first  appearance  of  the  prophet.  But  he  soon 
recovered,  for  he  recognised  him  to  be  the 
object  of  his  late  resentment,  the  Hermit 
of  the  Woods.  His  rage  kindled,  and  when 
he  perceived  the  executioners  to  throw  down 
their  brands  and  relinquish  their  office,  he 
rushed  forward  to  the  Hermit. 

"Howdarest  thou,  dotard,"  said  he,  "in 
trude  thyself  and  thy  madness  between  us  and 
the  sacrifice  of  our  captives?  The  spirits  of  our 
slain  warriors  call  upon  us  for  the  vengeance 


224  THE    BETROTHED 

which  we  must  inflict  upon  these  victims.  I 
have  my  own  wrongs  to  avenge  upon  thee,  Ro- 
dolph.  Retire,  and  disturb  us  not  in  this  feast 
of  vengeance,  or  I  will  cut  thee  down  where 
thou  stantiest." 

"  I  defy  thee,  vain  man!"  returned  the  Her 
mit,  camly.  "Thou  darest  not — I  am  here  in 
defence  of  innocence,  and  in  the  service  of  the 
Great  Spirit.  In  his  name,  I  command  thee  to 
set  these  prisoners  free.  If  thou  refusest,  his 
hand  is  out-stretched,  and  immediate  destruc 
tion  shall  fall  upon  thee!" 

"Destruction  shall  fall  upon  thee  first," 
shouted  the  infuriate  Mohawk,  and  he  plunged 
his  tomahawk  into  the  breast  of  the  prophet. 
All  the  spectators  shuddered,  but  stood  still  as 
if  horror  had  rooted  them  to  the  ground. 

"Brandt!  Brandt!"  said  the  Hermit,  as  he 
fell  to  the  earth,  "  thou  knowest  not  what  thou 
hast  done.  This  deed  has  filled  the  measure 
of  thy  wickedness.  There  is  no  more  peace 
for  thy  spirit.  Thou  hast  slain  thy  father!" 

Brandt  uttered  a  yell  of  horror  which  made 
the  air  quiver  and  astonished  the  Indians  who 
were  now  moving  irrregularly  and  timidly  to 
wards  him.  He  caught  his  father's  breast,  and 
held  it  with  an  endeavour  to  stem  the  issuing 
of  the  blood  that  flowed  from  it. " 

"  It  is  in  vain,"  said  Rodolph.     "  But  thank 


OF   WYOMING.  225 

Heaven  thou  seemest  penitent,  and  I  forgive  thee. 
— I  deserved  this.  In  my  youth  I  was  wicked 
as  thou.  My  father's  liberal  bounty  I  exhaust-- 
ed  in  dissipation.  At  length  he  refused  to 
supply  me  with  more.  I  longed  for  his  riches. 
/  slew  him.  Oh  God!  then,  then,  frenzy 
seized  my  brain !  I  fled  from  civilization. 
Your  mother  nursed  me  in  my  delirium.  -I 
recovered — I  married  her.  You  were  born. — 
I  fled  from  your  presence.  He  who  has  in 
jured  a  father  .ought  never  to  have  a  son.  A 
presentiment  I  could  not  banish,  told  me  that 
you  were  to  be  the  avenger  of  my  father's  blood 
— 'I  slew  my  father — my  son  has  slain  me!  Eter 
nal  justice,  thou  art  satisfied!"  he  said  and  died. 

Butler,  on  perceiving  from  his  station  on 
the  balcony,  this  interruption  to  the  execution 
of  his  victims,  hastened  forward  to  ascertain 
distinctly  the  cause.  By  the  time  he  approach 
ed,  the  Hermit  had  ceased  to  speak.  He  saw 
Brandt  powerfully  affected.  He  was  surprised, 
for  he  knew  not  the  cause. 

"What!  is  this  the  hero  of  the  Mohawks!" 
said  he,  upbraiding  his  confederate  in  iniquity. 
"  I  thought  thou  hadst  the  soul  of  a  warrior; 
but  thy  heart  is  grown  feeble  like  a  woman's. 
The  spirits  of  thy  fathers  will  be  ashamed  of 
thy  weakness." 

Brandt  cast  upon  him  a  look  of  indignation. 


226  THE    BETROTHED 

"The  spirits  of  my  fathers  ashamed  of  me!" 
he  exclaimed.  "  Ay;  they  will  curse  me.  But 
thou — thou  hast  nothing  to  do  with  my  fathers. 
Hie  hence,  lest,  if  thou  frettest  me,  in  my 
madness  I  slay  thee!" 

"What!  art  thou,  indeed,  mad?"  cried  But 
ler,  in  astonishment.  "  Does  it  grieve  thee 
that,  thou  hast  slain  a  peevish  grey-beard  who 
was  thy  enemy?" 

"  Ha!"  cried  Brandt,  seizing  his  tomahawk, 
which  was  still  reeking  with  the  blood  of  his 
father,  "if  thou  wilt  scoff  again,  I  have  a  weapon 
accustomed  to  pierce  hearts.  By  the  blood  that  is 
now  upon  it, I  swear  I  am  thy  friend  no  longer!" 

"Nonsense!"  returned  Butler,  perceiving 
the  impolicy  of  irritating  the  savage  farther. 
"I  wish  not  to  offend  thee.  1  cannot  compre 
hend  the  cause  of  thy  agitation. — But  enough 
of  it.  Let  us  now  proceed  with  the  sacrifice 
of  the  prisoners." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  savage,  his  habitual 
taste  for  destruction  returning.  "  Our  customs 
require  it. — He  was  but  a  white  man,"  he 
said  to  the  executioners,  who  now  stood  near 
him,  "and  could  not  be  a  prophet  of  M,anetto. 
Haste,  fire  the  piles,  and  let  the  sacrifice  be  of 
fered!" 

Being  no  longer  in  awe  of  Rodolph,  whom 
they  now  considered  a  deceiver,  and  who  lay 


Of   WYOMING.  227 

dead  before  them,  the  executioners  hastened  to 
re-kindle  their  brands,  which  they  soon  accom 
plished,  and  waving  them,  as  they  blazed  and 
crackled  in  the  air,  they  proceeded  towards  the 
piles.  But  before  they  could  apply  the  flaming 
instruments  to  their  destructive  purpose,  a  sud 
den  shout  of  warlike  voices  issued  from  the 
woods,  and  a  number  of  musket  balls  pierced 
each  of  them,  together  with  the  ferocious 
Brandt,  and  stretched  them  on  the  ground. 
This  was  instantaneously  followed  by  a  more 
abundant  visitation  of  the  same  deadly  missiles, 
upon  the  thickest  groups  of  the  Indians,  more 
than  a  hundred  of  whom  fell,  and  the  rest  fled 
in  terror  from  the  scene.  Butler,  with  the 
whole  force  of  the  tories,  was  now  advancing 
to  check  the  flight  of  the  Indians  and  give  bat 
tle  to  the  assailants,  when  Henry  Austin,  at  the' 
head  of  the  Wyoming  Volunteers,  and  about 
five  hundred  Continental  troops,  rushed  out  of 
the  wood  and  charged  the  traitorous  destroyers 
with  the  bayonet  They  made  but  a  short  re 
sistance.  They  were  unable  to  withstand  even 
the  first  shock  of  their  disciplined  adversaries. 
They  broke,  and  imitating  their  Indian  allies, 
fled  into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  leaving  two 
hundred  of  their  party  dead  on  the  field. 

Butler,  even  in  this  extremity,  resolved  to 
make  an  effort  to  retain  possession  of  Agnes. 


228  THE  BETROTHED 

He  hurried  from  the  scene  of  battle, as  soon  as  he 
saw  that  the  day  was  lost,  to  the  balcony  where 
he  had  left  her  in  charge  of  a  sentinel.  By  this 
time,  however,  the  prisoners  were  unbound, 
and  Dr.  Watson,  whose  anxious  eye  followed 
the  career  of  Butler  over  the  field,  perceived 
this  movement,  the  intention  of  which  he  at 
once  conjectured,  just  as  Henry  Austin  ap 
proached  towards  him. 

"Fly,  Henry !"  said  he,  "  fly  to  yonder  bal 
cony,  and  save  your  Betrothed  from  the  de 
stroyer!" 

With  the  speed  of  an  arrow  Henry  obeyed, 
and  just  as  Butler  had  seized  Agnes  to  carry  her 
off,  he  with  one  spring  mounted  the  balcony, 
and  one  powerful  thrust  of  his  sword,  anni 
hilated  the  opposition  which  the  sentinel  im- 
'  prudently  offered  to  his  advance  upon  Butler. 

"Ah!  infamous  miscreant!"  cried  he  to  the 
latter,  "thank  Heaven,  I  have  thee!" 
.  "I  know  that  this  is  my  death-scene,"  said 
the  courageous  ruffian,  "  for  thy  soldiers  sur 
round  me.  But  I  shall  die  with  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  thou,  my  detested  rival,  shalt 
not  survive  to  enjoy  Agnes." 

So  saying  he  made  a  desperate  pass  at  Henry, 
aiming,  not  to  save  himself,  but  to  destroy  his 
antagonist.  That  antagonist,  however,  was  too 
expert  a  swords-man  to  be  endangered  by  such 


OF  WYOMING.  229 

maniac  rashness.  He  struck  the  coming  weapon 
aside  with  such  force  that  it  almost  flew  from 
its  owner's  grasp,  while  his  own  sword,  in'  its 
backward  sweep,  nearly  dissevered  Butler's 
head  from  his  body. 

"  By  that  Heaven-directed  blow,"  said 
Colonel  Dennison,  who  at  that  moment  entered 
^he  balcony,  "thou  hast  avenged  the  desolation 
of  a  whole  people." 

"Thou  hast  also,"  said  Dr.  Watson,  who 
entered  immediately  after  the  Colonelj  "aven 
ged  thy  father  and  thy  sister,  and  rescued  thy 
Betrothed  from  unspeakable  misery — from  the 
hands  of  a  villain!" 

"Oh  Agnes!"  exclaimed  Henry,  straining 
her  to  his  palpitating  breast — "  my  beloved,  my 
faithful  one,  thou  art  yet'  my  own.  I  am  happy 
— Heaven  hath  preserved  thee  for  me!" 

"I  see  thee  again!"  said  she.  "Oh  Henry, 
thanks  to  the  Eternal!  this  is  indeed  happi 
ness!"  The  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes;  she  hid 
her  burning  blushes  in  his  bosom,  and  sobbed 
aloud  the  grateful  agitations  of  her  heart. 

"Bless  thee,  my  son!"  said  Mr.  Norwood, 
who  now,  with  Miss  Watson,  advanced  towards 
the  victor.  "The  hand  of  Heaven  is  mani 
fest  in  this  day's  deliverance.  May  the  Al 
mighty  Power  that  sent  thee  at  the  critical 
moment,  when  all  seemed  to  be  lost,  still  be- 
u 


230  THE  BETROTHED 

friend  thee  and  that  maiden,  thy  own  betrothed, 
who  has  been  true  to  thee  and  to  her  vows, 
amidst  the  severest  trials  that  could  beset  hu 
man  nature." 

But  we  haste  to  close  our  narrative;  and 
must,  therefore,  decline  entering  into  a  detail 
of  the  congratulations  and  outpourings  of  grati 
tude  of  which  Henry  Austin  was  now  the  ob 
ject.  .The  party  retired  from  the  eventful  bal 
cony  to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Norwood,  which 
was  so  lately  the  prison  of  its  venerable  master 
and  his  friends. 

Henry  now  informed  them  that  it  was  owing 
to  information  received  from  Rodolph  the  Her 
mit,  that  he  had  been  enabled  to  come  to  their 
rescue  at  so  critical  a  juncture.  After  the  cap 
ture  of  Fort  Wintermoot,  Rodolph  anticipat 
ing  what  would  happen  elsewhere,  hasted  on 
horseback,  towards  the  Lehigh,  where  he  under 
stood  that  a  party  of  Continentals  was  advancing 
to  Wyoming.  Here,  fortunately  meeting  them, 
he  stimulated  their  speed  by  the  intelligence  he 
imparted,  and  conducted  them,  by  the  shortest 
route,  to  their  destination. 

"Yesterday,"  said  Henry,  " Joseph  Jen 
nings  joined  us  with  a  small  party  of  his  bush 
rangers.  He  informed  us  where  the  Indians 
were  encamped,  but  he  knew  nothing  about 
the  intended  sacrifice.  Rodolph,  who  had  often. 


OF  WYOMING.  231 

in  the  character  of  a  prophet,  by  working  on 
their  superstition,  restrained  the  ferocity  of  the 
savages  in  their  wars,  conceiving  that  he  might 
possibly  do  some  good  by  visiting  them  now  in 
that  capacity,  hastened  on  before  us,  to  their 
encampment.  We  followed  as  fast  as  our  num 
bers  and  equipments  would  permit.  With  the 
result  of  his  arrival,  as  well  as  of  ours,  ye  are 
acquainted.  Would  to  Heaven  we  had  arrived 
but  one  week  sooner!  What  an  amount  of  un 
paralleled  misery  and  desolation  would  have 
been  prevented!" 

"The  ways  of  Providence  are,  indeed,  mys 
terious,"  observed  Mr.  Norwood.  "  Often  do 
the  wicked  triumph,  while  the  virtuous  are 
subjected  to  the  most  terrible  calamities.  But 
God  is  just;  hence  there  must  be  a  time  and  a 
place  where  the  inequalities  of  this  world  shall 
be  corrected,  and  the  value  of  virtue  and  the 
principles  of  eternal  justice  vindicated  to  the 
satisfaction  of  both  angels  and  men." 


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